


Rock Bottom

by Worffan101



Series: Rachel Connor's story [5]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek Online
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Flashbacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rachel is kind of a mess, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, recovery isn't easy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-24 16:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worffan101/pseuds/Worffan101
Summary: Rachel Connor, decorated special forces officer and supersoldier, is adrift and traumatized after her brutal torture and rape at the hands of psychopathic cyborg Ellen Shaw and the sinister ultranationalist group Section 31.  As Rachel's family and friends attempt to help her recover, Captain Kanril Eleya of the Federation starship /Bajor/ attempts to track down the evil assassin and her domestic-terrorist employers before she can strike again.Contains flashbacks to rape, description of torture and simulated torture, and heavy emotions.  Please be aware and careful as you read!Part 2 of a 3-part mini-series.





	Rock Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> Please READ THE TAGS before reading! 
> 
> Here's part 2--lots of heavy emotions, character work, a bit of action, and the fact that recovery isn't quick or easy, and you can't rush it. 
> 
> Exposition:  
\--Bolians: Federation member species, notable for blue leathery skin and bald heads.  
\--Remans/Havransu: Offshoot of the Vulcan species, notable for leathery/scaly skin, powerful telepathy, and pallid demeanor. Closely related to the antagonistic Romulans.

**** “ _ I know I'm alone, but somebody's watching me _  
_ Follows me everywhere I go _  
_ A cold flow surprised me again, I shiver _  
_ The presence of something, I can hear it's breathing _  
  
_ Leave me alone, wherever you came from _  
_ Hearing so much voices, no one's talking _  
  
_ Leave me alone _  
  
_ Leave me alone, wherever you came from _  
_ Hearing so much voices, no one's talking _  
  
_ Running for something, nothing, in the black of the night _  
_ Creeps around you, the invisible force that makes you crazy _  
_ I can't remember how it feels to be warm, to be alone... _  
_ Without that fear deep inside _  
  
_ Icons of death float on beyond me _  
_ Whispering my name and breathing it out _  
  
_ The menace of insanity _  
_ Inner voices cry out for action _  
_ Defenceless as I am _  
_ Lost in the alleged paradise _  
  
_ I'm not sure if I am here or elsewhere _  
_ Searching for satisfaction _  
_ Beyond the frontiers of my comprehension _  
  
_ Leave me alone, wherever you came from _  
_ Hearing so much voices, no one's talking _  
  
_ Leave me alone, wherever you came from _  
_ Hearing so much voices, no one's talking _  
_  
_Leave me alone”

— “Beyond Me” by After Forever

_ Cadet Rachel Connor. Stockroom, James T. Kirk Memorial Bar & Strip Club (and unofficial student center), 2 blocks from Starfleet Academy. April 2399. _

“Don’t you _ fucking dare _ stop,” I hiss, sweat beading on my forehead. Beneath me, Corda Nalas (Bajoran, class of ‘01, Medical track) squeaks something that sounds like an objection. Hard to tell through the haze of alcohol and THC running through my system. 

“Sorry, you’re the one on top!” Corda manages. “And these crates are kind of hard to…” 

“I meant my tits! Don’t stop!” I may not have much up top, but hey, a girl has needs. “_ Fuck! _” 

“Working on it!” OK, points for being able to think at a time like this. 

“Swear to fucking god,” I pant, abs flexing involuntarily. “Weed makes me more… _ ah _ … sensitive! I’m sure of it, _ ah _, there’s some science behind that, right?” Medical cadet should know, right? 

“Uh, huh?” 

OK, so maybe now’s not the best time. That thought makes it through my chemical-addled brain and I decide to focus on getting fucked. 

And, of course, _ just _ as he hits something really sensitive, my communicator rings from somewhere in the clothes pile, penetrating my brain faster than a cold shower. I slump on top of Corda with a groan as he stills. “Maybe it’s a wrong…” It rings again. “ _ Fuck _ . I _ told _ everybody I was heading out to get laid, my friends should know better than to…” I shift and move to get up, and Corda makes a whimpering sound, his eyes rolling partway up as he jerks. “ _ Really _, dude?” 

I slide off of him, cursing myself for picking a dude (with _ women _ you don’t have to worry about your partner finishing before you, damn it), and shuffle hastily through my shirt, his shirt, our boots, my pants, and our jackets to get to my phone. Behind me, Corda rolls over with a groan and a slurred apology, pants around his ankles. 

“Yeah?” I snap into the communicator, bitchier than I really have to be. 

“_ Hey, Raych, it’s Bev. Look, I hate to call you when you’re out clubbing, but I think I left the PADD with the articles for my Astrophysics paper in your room and I can’t find all of them again on the extranet... _” 

“_ Fuck _ my life,” I mutter. “Seriously?” Thinking’s hard when you’re drunk _ and _ high, but I force myself to focus. “OK. I’ll deal with it. Be back in half an hour.” 

“_ Thanks, Rachel, you’re a lifesaver. Hope you found someone cute at least _.” 

“Yeah, that all went south a minute ago, right as we were getting to the good part, too. Looks like it’s another night of _ Nymphos from Neptune Nine _ and Rosie Palms for me.” 

“_ Ah, sorry. Thanks again though, you’re the best _.” 

“No problem.” I hand up with a muttered curse and start looking for a sober pill in my purse. Behind me, Corda’s feet hit the floor. “Trash can for the condom by the door.” 

“Thanks, must’ve missed it on our way in.” 

“That’s ‘cause your tongue was in my mouth and your legs were wrapped around my waist at the time,” I chuckle, squinting at the hypospray I picked up a couple weeks ago (in an emergency, better to have a sober button handy and screw the high) for the right dosage. “Sorry I’m such a bitch tonight.” 

“Nah, I get it, I came early. Sorry about that.” He groans and stretches—fair, those crates can be murder on the back. “You want me to, maybe…” 

“It’s fine. Moment’s ruined.” I shake my head and toss the hypospray in my purse, paging through my phone’s alerts as the sober shot cuts through the alcohol and weed. My head starts to throb a bit—damn it, overdid the dose. “I swear, it’s like the universe has something against me getting laid.” 

He snorts. “I saw you heading back here two days ago with a Klingon who lives on my hall. And my roommate walked in on you in the bathroom on Georgiou 3rd last week with your hands in some Bolian’s pants.” 

“Oh, yeah, _ that _ was a good one,” I chuckle. “Worth the infirmary trip. Pro tip, use gloves if you ever find yourself fingering a Bolian.” 

“...I’ll keep that in mind.” 

One of the alerts on my phone catches my eye. “Whoah, the fuck?” 

“What?” 

“Something big just went down on Acamar III. Hitting the extranet now.” 

“Romulans tried for it? Aren’t the Acamarians too close to the border for that?” Acamar III isn’t a Federation world, lying in the gray area between the Federation, Romulans, and Klingons, but maintains non-aggression pacts with all three powers. Or maintained, before the Klingons started reneging on treaties again and the Romulan homeworld got blown up. 

“Nah, some Romulan ambassador was there for a major peace conference, trying to get a framework together for stabilizing the near side of Romulan space.” The rump of the old Star Empire’s clustered coreward of most of the Federation; a big wing of worlds nearer to the Klingon Empire are essentially in lawless space, and the only reason the Klingons haven’t straight-up invaded yet is the war they’re having with the Gorn, and J’mpok’s legitimacy problems. “Holy shit, says here terrorists calling themselves the ‘Havran People’s Revolutionary Liberation Front’ took the conference prisoner. Fleet sent in a MACO team--oh, _ nice _, Unit 001!” 

“001?” 

“_ Ellen Shaw _ ’s unit.” I groan with envy. “She’s the best of the best! Top score for Human marksmanship on Academy records! Youngest Lieutenant-Commander in MACO _ history _ ! Hero of the Cardassian Union! Karagite Heroism! And she’s _ fucking gorgeous _, too.” 

“You never struck me as a fangirl, Connor.” 

I shoot him a dirty look as I don my shirt. “I have my depths.” 

“I know, I was just in them.” 

I laugh at that—this guy’s great, I should do him again sometime. “Ellen Shaw’s basically my hero. She’s everything I want to be—strong, tough, smart, brave, gorgeous, and all that. They say the Cardassians offered to give her an estate on their homeworld and she _ refused _ , it was in one of her interviews with _ Stars and Chevrons _ . Man, I remember, three years ago, I still wasn’t sure if the Academy and MACO was where I wanted to go. I mean, I was still getting over my first girlfriend, the bitch cheated on me with a slut called _ Mindy _ , if you can believe that. Don’t want to make a life decision for the wrong reason, you know? But then--oh, man. Shaw did a recruiting vid, fresh out of post-graduate training, earned her second pip, and I was like, _ that’s who I want to be _ .” I shake my head at the memory. A winning smile and bright eyes, reaching out in powered armor. _ The Few. The Proud. MACO _. “What I wouldn’t give to meet her.” 

“Nah, better not to,” Corda advises me. “Never meet your heroes, right? Chances are slim she’s really another Li Nalas, you only get those once in a long time.” 

“Shut up,” I chuckle. “Ellen Shaw could never disappoint me. She’s everything I wish I could be, and I’ll _ never _ be that good.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” the Bajoran says. “We’re all just making our own way, you know?” 

He’s got a point. Still, someday I want to meet that woman. What’s the worst that could happen? 

***

_ Lieutenant Rachel Connor. USS _ Bajor _ . Returning from disaster-relief duties, Xarantine sector, United Federation of Planets. September 2411 _

It’s been a month since my ordeal on the Section 31 base, and I’m still not back to normal. The boys and I’ve been able to get some physical training in, but I’m still barred from combat sims on the Captain’s orders. I can’t sleep alone without being forced awake by the nightmares, and way too often, when I close my eyes, Ellen Shaw’s there to greet me. 

The worst part is, I know that she didn’t technically do anything worse than kicking a puppy. You can’t rape an augment, after all; no matter how hard she tries to control her modified instincts. It. Its instincts. I’m not an aug-lover, damn it. 

Eleana and the shrink say I shouldn’t think that way. I say, thinking doesn’t change the law. 

Either way, my appointments with Doc Shree are about as comfortable as cayenne in my panties (speaking from unfortunate experience). 

“How are you coping?” Doc Shree asks, calm and gentle-like. 

“I’m OK,” I lie. “I’m just having a bit of trouble sleeping, it’s no big deal, right?” 

“Trouble sleeping?” 

“Yeah.” I lick my lips nervously; my dentures are off, since Doc Shree’s in the loop, and my serrated teeth scrape over my tongue. “I go to sleep, and she’s there.” 

“Who?” 

“_ Shaw _.” I can’t stop myself from shivering a bit. “She’s there and she breaks me.” I suck in a breath, trying to slow my heart rate. “She breaks me again just like she did in that cell. I… I can’t…” I turn aside with a wince. “Sorry. I’ve gotta be stronger.” 

“No need to apologize.” The Andorian writes something down on her PADD. “You feel obligated to be ‘strong’?” 

“Yeah. I can’t be broken. I just can’t, I’m a MACO, damn it, I should be out there kicking ass.” 

“Can you elaborate on that, please?” 

“Fuck.” I run my hands over my buzz-cut scalp. “I have nightmares, about Shaw. Sometimes, I hear her during the day, too. She hurt me, bad. I should be able to push through. SERE training includes an interrogation resistance section, it’s the only part of MACO training that even most of the Fleet wants to do away with because they beat the shit out of you until either you break or you beat the time. I made it through that, I should be able to make it through Shaw.” 

“Have you been able to sleep through the nightmares?” 

I shake my head. “Not in my normal bed. I’ve been sleeping with Eleana, my girlfriend. She’s big spoon. Makes me feel safe. I dunno, I don’t feel right at all, but having her helps.” 

“Your relationship is stable?” 

“Yeah.” I huff out a single chuckle. “I think I love her. Like, more than just a fling. I still don’t know why she wants me, or why she puts up with me.” 

“Maybe she loves you too.” 

I laugh at that. “Haha, yeah right.” Something inside of me screams that I’m a moron. Fuck it. “I dunno. I want to punch a goddamn wall until I break my fingers.” 

“That’s understandable. I bet that you’d prefer to punch Ellen Shaw, though.” 

“Oh, yeah. I want to wring her fucking neck. But…” I shudder. “It’s hard, just thinking, what she did…” _ Her fingers twisting cruelly inside me, digging into the gash she already cut. The sneer as she tears the plating off of my naked breasts with her knife, cursing as I scream and thrash… _ “I can’t...I dunno. I don’t know if I can do it. But I have to, you know? I _ should be able to _.” 

“It’s alright to have some emotional instability. You were violated by a psychopath, Lieutenant.” 

“Yeah, but…” I grimace. “It all comes back to the same thing. Should’ve been stronger. Shoulda fought. Shoulda wrung that evil bitch’s neck.” I shudder. “She hurt me so bad I forgot my fucking name.” 

“Are you comfortable with elaborating?” 

“I...yeah. I guess. Subject 87. They called me…” ‘_ Subject 87 is not sentient. Subject 87 will restate mission parameters.’ _ _ Lopez standing there calmly sipping his tea, his even heartbeat a monotonous drone in my hypersensitive ears as Shaw’s breathing hitches, the leash tugging at my throat as she gets off on my pain… _ “They called me Subject 87.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I can’t…” 

“Take your time. We can discuss something else, if that helps.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, better that way.” I unclench my hands, bits of chair stuffing coming with them. “Sorry about that.” 

“I’ll replicate a new chair. You don’t need to apologize.” 

“I dunno, I sure feel like I do.” 

“Why?” 

I swallow nervously. “‘Cause I feel guilty.” I can feel it coiling like a snake in my gut. “When I woke up in that facility, back in ‘08… I got a quick look at their files before I ran. They did a _ lot _ of experiments. When they called me… what they called me… Doc, they turned 86 people into abominations, probably killed them in the process, trying to create me. _ Eighty-six _ . And knowing just what a crapshoot _ my _ augmentations are…” I shake my head. “And they _ keep _ fucking me up. They chased me all across Cardassian space, they caught me in the _ fucking bathroom _ , _ twice _ , and now they have their pet psycho fucking _ break _ me. My job’s to _ stop _ people like them, and instead I’m running like a fucking ** _coward_ ** !” I spit the word. “And if I fight them, they fucking break me. I’m _ weak _. Hundred and twenty kilos of augmented muscle and I’m weaker than a drugged Ferengi.” 

“Can you resist a photon torpedo blast, Lieutenant?” 

“What? No, of course not, direct hit with antimatter’s one of the few ways to kill me stone dead. Why?” 

“A hundred and twenty kilos of augmented muscle isn’t invincible.” She points her stylus at me. “You aren’t the first national hero I’ve had in that chair and you won’t be the last.” 

“They say if you make it to MACO’s Delta certification you’re the best of the best. _ The best of the best _ wouldn’t be fucked up this badly by a gang of terrorists and a cyborg psychopath.” I shake my head. “I killed two Iconians, I shouldn’t be screwed up like this.” 

“Not true,” the doc counters. “Lieutenant. Look me in the eye.” 

I look up slowly. Reluctantly. 

“It’s alright to be hurt,” Doc Shree says. “It’s alright to be a little broken up. It’s not _ weakness _ , it’s perfectly normal. What shows _ strength _ is putting yourself back together.” 

***

_ MACO Unit 131 barracks, USS _ Bajor _ . Two hours later _. 

“Good evening, sweetheart,” Eleana says as I meet her at the door. “How was your therapy session?” 

I grimace. “Fine. C’mon in, Luiz tried out a new cookie recipe in the mess hall replicator and it came out alright.” 

“Sounds delicious.” She catches my hand as the door opens. “Rachel…” 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

She purses her lips, but doesn’t push it. “I assume that you weren’t cleared for duty?” 

“Nope. I just need to get my ass in gear and be strong.” My hands clench unconsciously and she hisses in pain. “Shit! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, I wasn’t trying to…” 

“Sshhh.” She puts a finger on my lips. “I understand. You’re frustrated, you’re hurting, and you’re operating partially on instinct. Accidents happen.” Her lips quirk up. “Besides, I’m tougher than I look.” 

“She’s got a point,” K’tar grunts from behind a print issue of _ Jane’s Fighting Ships _. Eleana and I both blush. 

“Have a seat!” Lamont calls from his bunk, where he’s looking over a Fleet monthly’s quarterly update on weapons R&D. Mostly flashy bullshit, but sometimes they include some solid data in those. “We replicated a spare chair, since you’re here so often.” 

“Well, you fellows may be a bunch of rough-and-tumble jarheads, but you’ve got one lovely reason to keep coming down here.” She pulls me close with a grin, and Lamont and K’tar chuckle; I blush deep purple. 

“Take any chair, just don’t bother Luiz and Kallio too much, they’ve been playing this game of _ tlhInSa _ nonstop since breakfast.” I step around Lamont and pull up a chair. “Should be done soon.” 

“Don’t you have training?” 

“We’re on a different schedule because I’m not cleared for duty. I had to let Commander Mayhew—she’s coordinator for MACO in this sector—know that crap so Command doesn’t try ordering us into another hostage rescue. Fucking hard to explain, let me tell you.” 

“What she means is, she feels like a waste of space and is getting hard on herself again,” K’tar says from behind his print magazine. 

“I’m not getting…” 

“Yes, you are,” Eleana says, tugging me close. “We’ve all been taken off-duty at one point or another.” 

“I broke my leg my first week out of boot camp,” Lamont chuckles. “Tripped while playing racquetball in my hour of free time, actually. Bit embarrassing.” 

“Mandatory leave the time I got Tarkalian septicemia,” K’tar adds, still hiding behind the paper mag. “Whole month of recovery before I was back in fighting shape. Trauma means time off, whether it’s physical, mental, or both.” 

“Yeah, that’s what people say,” I mutter. “Luiz, Kallio, are you _ still _ not done?” 

“Grand total of 85 turns,” Luiz says without looking up. “I think we’re in endgame now, sir.” 

I eye the board, and snort. “Yeah. Victory in two for House of Molor if House of Kahless doesn’t pull a bladebearer out of their asses.” 

“Well, we’re playing Russian style, so even if I snatch defeat from the jaws of victory I’ll have a chance to recoup the loss.” 

I force a chuckle at that. Luiz is the one playing House of Kahless. Eleana pecks me on the cheek and pulls me down to sit next to her. 

“So, anything outside of therapy happen today?” 

“Fleet’s introducing a new set of cruisers. Pocket battleships, really, modular designs that’re supposed to help fill the ranks after the Iconian War last year.” We may have blown up the Dyson sphere the Iconians were using as their staging area for invasion, and I may have captured their flagship after killing Supreme High Lord Whatever-his-name-was, but Starfleet still lost two-thirds of the fleet in the invasion, and the only reason we’re not in _ worse _ shape the better part of a year later is that everybody else in the region was hurt even worse than us. “I had a medical checkup, Doc wants to make sure my regeneration doesn’t turn into cancer. You know, the usual.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, you didn’t alter me while I was in a coma.” Seriously, _ fuck _ Section 31. “Started reading a new history book that came out in the Klingon Empire—Ch’zog, son of Garon’s analysis of _ suvwi’ nov _ in the early Klingon Empire and the implications for society of their changing role after J’mpok and the war from ‘05 through ‘08.” Technically the last Klingon War lasted until early 2410, but J’mpok effectively conceded defeat two years before he lost his head in the middle of last year. “It’s good stuff. Ch’zog claims that social stratification and the reduction of enlisted-to-officer advancement over the past few centuries has had a detrimental effect on the Klingon Empire’s military effectiveness, and says that addition of the vassal species to the military will fix it. It’s laid out as an extended _ tlhInSa _ metaphor with a framing story of a game he played against a Gorn officer who he fought in the Klingon invasion of the Gorn Hegemony and then served alongside in ‘05 and ‘06.” 

“Ooh, that sounds nice!” Eleana encourages me, even though I _ know _ she’s no history buff. Or military nerd. “Tell me more!” 

“Uh, sure. So basically, he’s really old-school, one of those old warriors who sees war as… not a game, really. Well, the most dangerous game. It’s a thing the Klingons call the ‘moment of trial’, we call it something like ‘what you are in the dark’, some of the Klingons have this philosophy that says that the purest expression of wits, virtues, prowess, all that, isn’t a duel but a hunt, where there’s no rules and no holds barred and all that matters is who can win. Not even kill the other, just win, live-capture has its own honor associated with it. The idea is that when you’re in that situation, whatever else you are boils away and it’s… what you are in the dark. Finest test of a warrior, and all. So basically, the whole book’s _ steeped _ in this. He argues that adding the Letheans and Gorn and Nausicaans and Ferasans and the Orions who joined up in exchange for gutting their owners will improve the KDF by adding guile and strength and creativity and new ways of thinking.” 

“OK, I can sort of see where he’s going with that. The same reason why we’re encouraged in medical school to study various cultures’ traditional remedies and apply modern science to them, learn the history behind them, and go from there—different ways of thinking, working together.” 

“Pretty much, yeah. It’s good reading, kinds of helps take the edge off.” I grimace. “I’m just _ pissed _ that I can’t get back to work.” 

“You know why that’s a mental health concern, Rachel…” 

“I _ know _ that but I don’t have to _ like _ it. I’m a fucking MACO, damn it, I should be earning my…” 

“HA!” Kallio shouts in victory, Luiz groaning as the Finn pins his general. “_ Got _ you, just like she said! 87 moves, you big bastard! 87!” 

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to rub it in,” Luiz rumbles. “87 moves, damn it, how’d I see that coming—Sir? Are you…” 

I don’t hear anything more, my breath coming in gasps. I shouldn’t be reacting to something so innocuous, but after my therapy session, and dwelling on it…

_ “Gotta say, 87, I like you like this,” Shaw whispers in my ear. Subject 87—me—whimpers as she kneels, palms clenching against the unforgiving floor as Shaw’s touch burns like acid. “On your knees. As you should be.” She huffs, and my brain fills in her shaking her head in disgust. “And they think you can replace me? The best of the best? Nah, you’re lucky I decided to fuck you, bitch.” I gasp as her fingers slip inside, and then my head rings as she slaps me. _

_ “Shut it! Some assassin you are, huffing and puffing like a fucking beached whale. What a waste of credits.” I bite my tongue, drawing blood on my serrated teeth, and somehow I’m still hydrated enough to cry. “Well, Lopez thinks you’re worth something, so we’d better get to work.” Her fingers twist. “I need to make sure that you never forget that I own your ass, bitch. Now, _ beg _ !” _

_ “P… p…” I bite my tongue on it. She curls her fingers, tearing into my insides, and slaps me, drawing a thin wail. _

_ “I said beg, bitch!” _

_ “Please,” I whimper, “Please stop!” _

_ “Stop? Oh, no, bitch, you don’t get it. You’re going to beg me to fuck…” _

_ “Rachel!” _

_ “…you, and then…” _

_ “Rachel!” _

_ “…I’m gonna make you…” _

“RACHEL!” 

I gasp as I’m brought back to myself, and find myself hyperventilating, my heart racing and hands holding the shredded remains of my top sheet as Eleana grips my shoulder and my squad stands around looking worried. “Can’t touch me, please don’t, please don’t, I’ll be a good girl, please not again…” My brain catches up with my mouth and I suck in a deep breath, pulling my knees up and clutching them so hard I hear my bones creak. 

“Sir, can you hear us?” Luiz rumbles. I manage a nod. Eleana shuffles herself up to my side and gently pulls my ear to her chest. I can hear her heart beating, slower than a Human’s, that deep steady rhythm she inherited from her Reman father. I try to focus on that, the sharp smell of her anxiety, anything but the stink of my own fear and the racing of my own heart. 

“What the Hell just happened?” Lamont demands of the room. “That was a post-traumatic trigger, what did the Lieutenant see or hear that could cause that?” 

“Eighty-seven,” I bite out. 

“Lieutenant?” Kallio asks, worried. 

“Subject 87. That’s what they called me. Shaw called me that, said she owned me. When she… you know. I talked about it in therapy. Was on my mind.” 

I break off and pull myself tighter as I smell the reek of unadulterated rage, and Eleana strokes my hair, whispering sweet nothings to me. Just gotta focus on her. Nothing but her heart. 

“We have to report this,” Kallio says quietly, but doesn’t bother whispering. No point, with my senses. “This isn’t right, damn it!” 

“What’s that going to do? The Lieutenant already said she doesn’t want to press the rape charges because Shaw would plead not guilty on the grounds that the plaintiff doesn’t have civil rights.” K’tar’s voice is a dark snarl. “She talked about it in therapy, so the counselor knows.” 

“Come on, _ compadre _ , we have to do _ something _,” Luiz complains. 

“What _ can _ we do?” Lamont counters, pulling up a chair next to me and sitting down not quite close enough to brush up against me. “Besides being here?” 

There’s a long moment of silence. I focus on Eleana’s heartbeat as her nails scrape gently against my scalp. Finally Kallio speaks up. 

“We can make sure this never happens again. To anyone. I know a way to modify a TR-116…” 

“What if we get live-capture orders?” K’tar cuts in. “You can’t just assassinate Shaw if we get those.” 

“_ Shaw raped the Lieutenant! _ ” The little guy _ spits _ it, face twisted with futile rage. 

“In that case, honestly I think we should let her at the psychopath,” Luiz remarks. “Five minutes alone in a room. Shaw chained to a wall, immobile. Solves a lot of problems.” 

“And that puts it back in the _ Lieutenant _’s court,” Lamont points out. “She’s a tough woman, and she’s gonna want her own payback. That’s a given, and it’s healthier to put the choice in her hands.” 

“Good point,” Kallio notes. They look to me, and I nod slowly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like that.” I start to lean back up, Eleana helping me as I go. “Thank you, honey,” I whisper, letting a last breath shudder out as I tell myself I’ve regained control. I’m strong, right? I’ve got this. I think. 

“Of course,” Eleana assures me softly, her hand still scratching at my hair. “Anything you need, baby.” 

I nod slightly, clenching my jaw. “Yeah. Yeah, OK. I’m good now, though.” It’s bullshit and everybody knows it. 

“You up for a workout?” Lamont offers. “Just pumping iron, sorry, doc says no combat.” 

I rub the back of my head, thinking. “Yeah, alright. I should give that a shot.” 

“Alright, see you in the holodeck in ten, then.” He nods to Luiz and rises. “Watch her, Jose?” 

“Sure thing, sir.” 

“Gimme a sec to get changed, Luiz, I think I have a clean bra. If not, that’s what the replicator’s for, right?” 

***

“Your girlfriend’s pretty damn hot,” Luiz grunts as he benches a barbell loaded down with hundreds of pounds of iron. “Head-wise I mean. Been engaged to be married twice and never got a woman with a brain that sharp.” 

“_ Twice _?” I sit up from doing declines with close to half a ton, nice light weight high reps thing. “You never told me that.” I almost feel human. Just me, the boys, and a few tons of iron, Lamont and K’tar arguing with Kallio over the best way to do leg work on the other side of the holodeck. 

If I focus I can pretend I’m fine, for a bit. 

“Never came up,” the big lug grunts, and the barbell clangs against the rests. “Besides, the first one kind of sucked.” 

“Yeah?” 

He winces as he sits up, toweling off his face. “Yeah. Mother-in-law issues. She was the golden child. Lasted only two years, which was my own stupid fault for getting into it right out of secondary school and thinking of tying the knot three months in. Then with Malkia, her mother sucked too—not as bad as mine, but bad—but she had a sexy spine.” He chuckles at a memory. “Nothing hotter in a woman than a tritanium spine. She was sharp, too, not as sharp as your girl but more than sharp enough for me. And when she got pushed, the spine came out, and it was hot. I mean, she was hot already—you know that look a really gorgeous East African woman gets, when you get tall and long hair and solid bones on one woman—but when she flashed that spine she’d make Sol look like a candle.” 

I grab some dumbells for bicep curls. “Tell me.” 

“Well, her mother was the most baby-obsessed creep you’ve ever met.” 

“Mine’d give her a run for her money.” 

Luiz shakes his head with a chuckle. “Yours respects boundaries. This one didn’t. Really crazy old-school entitled Earther with a bit of regional snootiness, you know how some of those political families can get. Anyway, she _ would not shut up _ about us having kids, drove me crazy. Like, you bet your _ culo _ those horror stories Ensign Valen has from when she worked at that hospital, she’d be the mother-in-law. We moved to Andoria to get away from her, but then Malkia and I weren’t really doing so well in the manufacturing shit we were stuck in, so we sat down and talked, I decided to join the Fleet and find out where I was good, she went into the merchants, runs freight on the Republic border now. She was lucky enough to be in deep space during the initial Iconian invasion and had a good crew and a fast ship, so she wrote me last year that she survived.” 

“You stayed in touch?” Luiz nods as he gets himself situated for squats. 

“Oh, yeah, it was mutual. She and I had a talk, decided we didn’t want to try to make a long-distance work. We’re still on good terms, considering trying again if we ever get tired of space. Maybe actually tie the knot this time, make good on the engagement. Back to the story…” he grunts, squatting about 200 kilos, moderate weight for a man as built as him, “...her mother called up...huh!...asking when we were going to give her grandchildren...huh!...and trying to manipulate us into moving back to Earth...huh!...so she could keep us in her clutches. Huh! You know the excuses...huh!..._ oh, my poor back, my house is sooo large _ ...huh!... _ won’t someone keep me company _ ...huh!... _ in my old age, oh woe is me... _huh!...and Malkia had her on speaker...huh!...and just shut her down. Huh! Called her out on every...huh!...excuse, then said we wouldn’t move back...huh!...if every other planet in the galaxy...huh!...was assimilated. Made her mother...huh!...pretty upset, but Malkia...huh!...was the scapegoat anyway, so it...huh!...wasn’t like they were on great...huh!...terms to start with.” He backs up and sets the weights down, then grabs his water. “I watched the whole thing.” He takes a swig, and I raise an eyebrow to prompt him as I set my dumbells down. 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh, yeah. She hung up and I kissed her right there in the kitchen. We barely made it to the couch.” Luiz chuckles at the memory. “The irony was, we _ weren’t _ opposed to kids. I kinda favored the idea, she mentioned a few times she likes little kids. But, 22 or 23 isn’t the age to be doing that, not anymore--it’s the 25th century and there’s hundreds of millions of us, it’s not the Post-Atomic Horror when everybody popped out 10 before 30 on the government’s dime to repopulate the planet.” 

“Fair point,” I acknowledge. “Still, ten years on, what do you think?” 

“I’m pretty happy with it all,” he admits. “My life’s pretty good. I’ve got good teammates, a _ damn _ good officer, a great Captain on a damn fine ship.” I grab my own water bottle and start sucking some down as he keeps going. “Things are looking up for us now, I think. We do good work, our team and ship are competent, you’ve got a fantastic girl and no matter what you think I can _ see _ you getting better.” I grimace at that, but he pats me on the shoulder. “You have this, we have this. That _ puta _ Shaw doesn’t stand a chance.” 

“Yeah. I got this, Luiz.” 

The lie burns like hot ash on my tongue as it leaves my mouth. 

***

_ Rachel. On shore leave, Regulus IV colony. _

“Your family has an estate here?” Eleana asks as we step off the shuttle. 

“Yeah, sort of. More of a vacation house the extended family uses on time-share. Original owner was on a distant branch of Mom’s side—five generations removed, I think. My side’s the poor side, from a younger son. Well, as poor as you can get in the Federation. Anyway, I have a Great-Uncle Selim who inherited it a decade back, his wife’s a member of a People’s Socialist Party subsidiary and a rep on the planetary government for one of the working-class districts.” Which is about as important as my family got before me; Regulus IV’s a big, important, and old colony world, with a population about 4 billion, so rep on the planetary council means a constituency of 10 million people. Not saving the galaxy, maybe, but damn important on the local level. Especially since it’s a popular retirement spot for diplos, politicians, and labor union higher-ups. 

“This way,” Eleana says, shepherding me off towards the shuttleport’s exit, Kallio and Luiz shadowing us where they think I can’t see them. I appreciate the guards, though; two armed MACOs helps me feel a lot safer. 

Then I see the women standing by the exit. An older woman in a tacky pantsuit and a flower-print headscarf carrying a wicker basket, and a black-haired one in her 30s with a utilitarian blouse and shorts. Classic southern Arab features and I’d know those eyes anywhere. 

“_ Mom? _Amy?” 

My mother waves frantically, and my kid sister’s lips split into a grin. “Rachel!” Mom calls. “Oh, come here, you look so good in that uniform!” 

“You called my _ mother _?” I ask Eleana. She chuckles softly. 

“I thought that you might want a little comfort.” 

“Oh god. Thank you, baby, I can’t even…” 

“You don’t need to,” she promises, her arm still gently held around my torso. I don’t deserve her, damn it. 

“Hey there, sis,” Amy greets me. “Physical contact OK?” 

“Yeah, just like go a little easy, please.” 

“Of course.” She wraps me in a gentle hug, rubbing my back gently. “Hey, Rachel. I heard about what happened. Mom and I, we’re gonna spend this whole weekend pampering you.” 

“You don’t have to…” 

“But we want to.” She pulls back, eyes hard. “You’re my sister, Rachel, and if you think I’m letting some two-credit thug hurt you without coming by to help you get back on your feet, which you seem to be doing pretty well already, I’m not much of a sister.” 

I squeeze her tight, and my eyes are blurry with tears. She gasps. “Ugh! Rachel! Tight! Too tight!” 

I pull back instantly, and my chromatophores flare purple, then grey. “Shit! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” 

“It’s alright,” my sister assures me. “Just a little surprising.” 

She lets me go, and Mom sets down her basket. I gulp. “Hi, Mom. I, uh. I’m alive.” 

“I know, sweetie.” She visibly holds herself back from grabbing my face and examining me. “When I heard...your sister told me, she heard it from this nice young lady, at first I couldn’t believe it, it all sounded so horrible…” 

“It happened.” My voice is toneless. “It hurt. A lot. I don’t want to think about it.” Another round of tears wells up. Mom nods, then pulls me tight. 

“Of course, sweetie. Oh, my poor baby, out there all alone without family to watch out for you--you’ve been going to therapy?” 

I can’t quite form the words, and just hold Mom tight, crying down into her shoulder. Eleana answers for me. “Three meetings a week. Checkups and talk therapy, and I spend whatever time I can spare with her just in case.” 

“‘M not glass,” I manage. 

“We know,” Amy assures me. Mom squeezes my torso, and I carefully squeeze back. “But right here, this planet, this is a safe place. We’re going to take care of you all weekend and it’s going to be A-OK to be a little fragile.” 

“I…” I bite my lip, thankfully I remembered my dentures today. I’m not on the ship. I’m not on duty. I don’t _ have _ a duty right now. Just for a couple of days… “OK. I’ll try.” 

I feel Eleana’s hand on my shoulder as Mom slowly pulls back, firm and steady. “That’s more than good enough, Rachel. It’s more than enough.” 

***

_ Petty Officer Jose Luiz. USS _ Bajor _ mess hall. _

With Lieutenant Connor down on the planet and _ Bajor _ undergoing scheduled maintenance, there isn’t much for me to do. Now that I’ve visited all the tourist sites I care to, my schedule’s down to “running security drills” and free time, so I opt for an early lunch. Lieutenant Alicia Gantumur, head of the assault unit the Captain started developing before we MACOs were assigned here, already has a seat on one of the benches. 

“What’s that you’re watching, sir?” 

Gantumur flips her PADD; it’s a recruitment vid from about 2402. Ellen Shaw grins back, and I see for a moment how that _ puta _could make it so far. 

“_ Whether it’s the True Way or Nausicaan pirates threatening the innocent, _ ” vid-Shaw says, her flaming red hair flowing in a studio breeze and buxom yet muscular form shot from a three-quarters angle to flatter her breasts more, a charming smile on her naughty-girl good looks as she stands, phaser rifle held pointed straight up in her right hand as her left points to the viewer. “ _ Starfleet is there to protect the peace, and MACO is there to kick ass and save lives. We defend the Federation, so that ordinary citizens can sleep peacefully in paradise. I’m Commander Ellen Shaw, Hero of Acamar III, and I want YOU for Military Assault-Command Operations today. _” 

“_ The few. The proud. MACO _,” the narration intones. I look down to Gantumur with a raised eyebrow. 

“I see why they thought she was Command material.” 

“Yeah, you look at that, you think you’d follow her out there just ‘cause she asked,” the assault chief notes. “I mean, _ damn _ —looks, brains, muscle, _ and _ charisma in one package?” She shakes her head. “What a _ ffycin _ waste.” 

“No accounting for the personality. Some people are just assholes. What language was that?”

“Welsh.” She gestures at herself. “Me tad’s Welsh—well, his tad’s Mongolian but he was born in Cardiff—and me mum’s from Erbil.” I nod and she looks back at the image. “Seems to me gung-ho people like that always turn out to be arseholes. How'd Shaw slip past psych screenings?” 

I point at the video. “Shaw’s smart, good-looking, fit, charming--that covers for a lot of downsides. Probably bluffed her way through some and Command ignored the rest ‘cause she looked great for the cameras before it was too late. Getting dishonorable probably screwed her up worse, though.” 

“Still. How’d she get through psych evals? Surely there was _ something _.” 

I chuckle. “Sir, you’re talking to a man whose parents named him _ Legolas Mary-Sue Moonchild _ . They never had any psych warning flags raised, even when my mother was a radical anarchist back in the ‘70s.” I shake my head as Gantumur winces. “To be fair, though, my parents are the kind of mostly-harmless crazy you can describe as _ eccentric _. Fad diets and stupid kid names, not rape and terrorism.” 

“Now I know why you have the most generic Hispanic name I’ve ever heard,” Gantumur chuckles. “Changed it in college?” 

“Literally the day I turned 18. Then I got drunk with my football _ compadres _, slept with the goaltender and a couple of co-eds, moved in with a friend, and started looking for work. From there, brief stint in a labor syndicate, worker-owned gig out of Alpha Centauri, nearly got married a couple of times, then I enlisted. They pegged me as smarter than the average grunt, I could use a pig effectively and could figure my way around explosives, so it was commando work for me.” I shrug. “Anyway, maybe someone in Command was grooming Shaw for flag ranks? Wouldn’t be the first time someone let their ego override their judgement and promoted a favorite.” 

“Possible,” Gantumur allows. “I don’t know who that’d be, though—you’d expect a resignation soon after Shaw was court-martialed, right?” 

“Or a demotion. Don’t want a scandal, right?” 

“Point.” _ Starfleet protects its own _ has a downside: there can be a push at higher ranks to blame someone lower down the chain of command for a fuckup. It’s a problem that goes back millennia and probably won’t ever go away. “Ah, sorry to bother you about this. I’m just trying to figure it all out—Connor’s good people, you know?” 

I nod. “As officers go, one of the best. Seeing her like this…” I grimace. “Ellen Shaw’s going to a special Hell, let’s just leave it at that.” 

“I know what you mean.” It’s not about _ us _ and we know it; this is the Lieutenant’s problem and the best people like Lieutenant Gantumur and I _ can _ do is be there if Lieutenant Connor needs us. “Still—even if we need Shaw alive for Intel, that doesn’t mean _ undamaged _.” 

“Believe me, sir, I think Lieutenant Connor’s already got some thoughts in that direction.” 

***

_ Rachel. Regulus IV surface _. 

“...and when Dad heard about what they did to you, he damn near had an aneurysm. You know how he gets when he gets mad, the really cold way? Well, he went and got himself a license for a phaser, and spent a few thousand credits on a new Cerberus Industries model.” Amy shakes her head. “I’ve never seen him so angry. He was _ shouting _ mad, and Dad never gets that way.” 

I nod wordlessly, tucking in to dinner. Dad’s an old-school NCO who served in the Dominion War, people who lived through that have a way about them. I take another bite; Mom’s _ kabsa _ is still the best. 

“Mahmud, he’s getting married to that nice girl Jennifer he was dating, the ornithologist, he was talking about quitting his job to join the Fleet before she talked him down.” My brother’s a cop who works spaceport security for EarthSec; he takes after Dad, Amy takes after Mom. 

“He doesn’t have the poker face for Intel,” I say. My voice is quiet and kind of flat, scares me a little. 

“Mmh. He got transferred to Baikonur Spaceport, so the commute’s a bit of a hassle—has to use the planetary transporter network, and that’s still all fouled up what with the Paris reconstruction efforts. There’s been this huge project with computer models of the city based on satellite scans, and recreations of the artifacts in the museums, it’s going to take decades but they think they can even re-create the _ Mona Lisa _ down to the paint molecules.” Earth’s most famous painting has a history longer than some Earth cities. 

“They doing it back to the pre-bombing state or the way it was before World War 3?” Back in the 20th century the portrait used to have a head, but the canvas was damaged in the fighting as the French Resistance fought the Third French Empire’s forces in the streets early in the war. There’ve been reconstructions based on old photographs, but the Louvre’s never actually gone ahead with a full reconstruction. 

“Apparently they’re considering reconstructing the head portion, but I don’t believe it. It’s cutting-edge enough that they have the deep penetration scans and molecular analyses of the paint and canvas.” 

“Huh.” I look up at her to ask her something as she turns, and…

_ Naked, on a leash, the woman with Amy’s face, the Doc tells me later it was holograms but she seemed so real, Shaw stabbing me with the prod, painthepainthepainthepain, Amy’s head ruined, neck fountaining blood, why can’t I smell it, Shaw smiling at me her eyes cold as deep space KILL KILL KILL… _

“Rachel? Rachel!” Someone touches my shoulder and I scream, scrambling backwards, my chair tipping backwards and sending me crashing to the floor, Amy yelping as she herself jumps back. 

“_ Ya ‘iilahi! _ Rachel, it’s OK, you’re safe, it’s just me!” 

My breath’s coming in pants, my heart hammering, pulsing in my ears. I try to pull myself back, thrashing desperately, and there’s a _ crunch _ of splintering wood as my insane strength proves too much for something wooden, the chair? The rank smell of Amy’s fear hits me, and I seize on that, trying to focus, _ I couldn’t smell her, there was no smell, just a holo, just a holo they said _…

“What’s going—oh, Sef! Be careful, don’t grab her!” Eleana. I force my eyes shut, which is almost worse, Ellen Shaw’s sneering face calling me _ good girl _ and I wanted to kill her I want to kill her _ so much _…

“Easy, baby,” Eleana murmurs, and I hear her clothes scratch against her finely-scaled skin as she crouches. “Amy, get low and approach slowly.” That’s right, Mom was taking Eleana outside for something, give Amy and me some sister time, I just need to breathe. Breathe. 

“There you go,” Eleana murmurs, and I lean towards her instinctively, her arm coming out to encircle my shoulders gently. “That’s my girl. Just breathe, baby. I love you so much.” She kisses my hair, and I feel myself shudder. “Amy, what happened?” 

“I don’t know!” Amy replies, quiet but scared—at least I think it’s fear. I can smell the acrid scent of Human terror pouring off of her, for sure. “She just looked at me and then it was like she was frozen, and she was hyperventilating with her eyes wide and the fork was bending in her hand.” 

“Swimmer’s tears,” Eleana mutters. “It must’ve been the simulated kills. The Section 31 people had a holodeck, like the Tal’Shiar used to use for conditioning.” 

“Oh God,” I hear Mom whisper. “Did they… did they make her…” 

“Yeah,” I croak. Eleana pulls back slightly but I scramble into her more. “Babe, please, I just need…” 

“Of course.” She wraps her arm around me again and squeezes gently. 

“They made a holo that looked like Amy and Shaw hit me until I killed the holo,” I admit. I haven’t even told Doc Shree this. “It was so _ real _ . I should’ve noticed, I mean I didn’t smell anything, or feel blood on me but I did it and then Shaw called me a _ good girl _ and I lost it and then she hit me until I blacked out.” 

Mom’s hand’s over her mouth and Amy reeks of something I don’t recognize. I definitely pick up her gasp, though. Eleana grips me tighter and presses another kiss to my scalp. 

“It’s going to be OK, Rachel,” she promises me. It all feels _ wrong _ . I can’t place it, I don’t understand, it’s _ wrong _ that people say that, I can’t...

I shake my head, pulling away. My breathing speeds up, tearing through my throat as I stand up. “No, no it’s fucking not!” I pick up the broken chair with a snarl. “Look at this bullshit! I can’t even eat dinner without fucking something up! That fucking bitch is _ everywhere _ ! She’s inside my fucking head! Those Section 31 bastards, those fucking shit-eating sons of bitches, they got _ inside _ me! How the fuck am I supposed to… gah!” I throw the chair down, clutching my head. “It makes _ no fucking sense _ ! How come it hurts _ so fucking much _ ? I’m supposed to be _ tough _!” 

“Rachel.” Eleana grabs my shoulder gently, and I fight the involuntary shudder of fight-or-flight as she pulls me close. “Sweetie, that psychopath tortured you for _ weeks _ . I had to take basic psych courses at the Academy for my medical certification, and what she did to you would have left most people _ catatonic _. It’s going to take time to feel better.” 

“Screw fucking _ time _ , it’s been weeks since I got pulled out of there! When I was in MACO training, Chief Ghorak locked me in a fucking coffin for an hour and a half, then had me tied to a wall, waterboarded, strangled half to death, and then he personally beat the shit out of me until I had to spend the entire next day in the infirmary, and I’m pretty sure he went _ easy _ on me because Morimoto was in sickbay for three days straight and t’Arien was there for two, and she’s a _ Romulan! _ I can _ take _ pain, I was fucking _ trained _ to withstand torture!” Eleana and my mom and sister look horrified and reek of something that hits my supercharged senses as an acrid burn as I pull away again, but I keep going. “The only thing they _ don’t _ let the instructors in interrogation resistance do is rape or kill you, and the brass apparently gets pissy about missing limbs since the goal’s to make good soldiers, not ruin ‘em. I made it twelve fucking hours. Didn’t crack. Waterboarding, thumbscrews, whip, bare goddamn fists, sensory deprivation, claustrophobia, I didn’t spill anything. And Section 31, Ellen fucking Shaw can make me a fucking mindless dog in a couple of _ weeks _?” 

“You were alone, being tortured for hours on end, without a solid anchor to…” 

I shake my head, running my hands over my scalp. “She hit me right where it hurt. She knows I’m a fucking animal inside and that bitch used it. The psycho who was her boss, too. They made the augment come out, I was biting at Shaw, I wanted to sink my teeth into her throat…” 

“I want to do the same thing,” Amy notes, and I turn sharply. My sister looks queasy, but her eyes are firm. “Sis, I have no _ idea _ what you must feel like or what you’ve been through, but it’s going to take months to recover, _ and that’s OK _. You can take some leave, come back to Earth for a while…” 

I shake my head. “No. I just need to find the trick. I just gotta feel better and then kick Shaw until she stops screaming and then I’ll be fine.” 

“Rachel…” Mom tries. 

“I just need to get control back!” I slug the wall, and something in my hand cracks as I split the stone. There’s blood, and a couple of my finger bones are at weird angles on the knuckles. “_ Shit _,” I hiss, biting back a scream of pain. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have…” 

“How about we go for a walk?” Eleana asks, doing the Calming Voice For Small Children And Angry Dogs. “Just the two of us, down by the lake. That should help, right, a nice romantic walk? The moons over the water, it’s a quiet night out there, and we can re-set your fingers so they can heal properly?” 

I shake my head, chuckling mirthlessly. “Yeah, whatever. I still can’t fucking believe it. Some badass I am, Shaw sticks a knife inside me a couple of times and I crack like Humpty fucking Dumpty.” 

I storm out, Eleana following me and apologizing to Mom and Amy. I fucking hate this bullshit. Fuck Section 31. 

***

“Talk to me,” Eleana orders, one arm hooked resolutely around my elbow. “You’re stiff as a board and I don’t have enough training to tell which one of the fifteen emotions boiling in your mind are the most important.” 

I work my jaw, the hand that isn’t still healing clenching hard enough to dig my short fingernails into my palm skin almost to the point of blood. “Three fucking years I’ve been aug-filth,” I spit. “I’ve been in control the whole time. I’m not just another aug, I can control the rage, the savagery. There’s enough of _ me _ left that I’m the one who makes the decisions. 

“_ Ellen Shaw _ changed that. She had me naked on the floor doing whatever she said.” I lick my lips, flexing my good fingers open and closed. “She made the animal come out, she put _ everybody _ at risk, she took _ me _ and took it away. They called me Subject 87 and that’s what I was.” 

She lets out a long breath, seems like she’s about to say something, then stops herself. After a few moments, she speaks. “I see. There’s...a couple layers of issues to unpack there.” 

I scoff. “Tell me about it, babe.” 

“Yeah, I’m not sure where to start,” she notes. “I’m an empath, not a psychologist. But I have to say, _ right now _ , that you are _ you _ , Rachel. You’re hurt, you’re angry and in pain, and that’s fine, it’s completely normal considering...what that monster did to you. But you’re still you, Rachel, and they couldn’t do anything more than cover you up for a couple days because you’re a _ badass _, Nobody can keep you down for long, whether it’s Iconians or Cardassian fascists or Section 31.” 

“You didn’t know me before I got turned into an abomination,” I snarl, then catch myself. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. But I don’t know how much of the _ me _ you see is me or the augment.” 

“Rachel, I’ve been talking to your mother and sister all day while your squad covers the perimeter. From what they tell me, the only difference between you now and when you left Earth for your first tour is that you’re… ah, I’ve got no better way to put it, more mature.” 

I wince at that. “Yeah, I was an adrenaline addict and a bitch when I was younger. Still. I used to be… I was a short-tempered jackass. Took stupid risks.” 

“That sounds like you.” 

“No, _ now _ I take them because I’m an aug and I can’t fucking die,” I counter. That gets me a disbelieving snort. 

“So, the augmentation made you more like yourself?” 

“That’s not what I mean!” I protest. “_ Look _ at me! They fucked my body up so far I’m a whole new _ species _ ! I’ve _ eaten _ bits of people to stay functional! I can do _ this _ !” I pull away and punch a birch sapling on the trunk, once, twice, fucking up my damaged hand again but splitting the trunk into a mess of broken shards. “That was what Section 31 did to the part of me they _ halfway _ understood. I’ve got so much extra DNA my nuclei look more like an _ Undine’s _ than a Human’s, and they were tinkering with me for _ months _ with who knows what damage done to what was left of my brain after they and the Borg were done with me, _ how can I ever know that they didn’t give me an aug-freak brain to go with my aug-freak body _?” I grab the top half of the sapling off of the ground and twist it apart from sheer frustration. 

She approaches slowly, one hand on my shoulder as the other goes to cup my cheek. “Well, speaking as the biologist who’s still just starting to figure out exactly what those scum did to you, all I can go on until your DNA’s been fully sequenced is what I can see and sense. And _ that _ tells me that you’re a wonderful, powerful, heroic woman who’s in a lot of pain and needs some help. A woman who _ deserves _ that help, who’s saved thousands of lives and _ never _ stopped fighting to do good in the universe no matter how bad her situation’s been or how much it hurt.” 

“Part of me likes it,” I whisper. 

“I know,” she murmurs, the hand on my shoulder snaking around me. I should be freaking out, but something about the warmth behind the scaly bumps of her skin, the scent of her, no perfume because she knows it can be hard on my senses, the tone of her voice, something about it all screams _ safe _ and for a moment I barely even remember what Shaw looked like as the bitch went at me. “I was there when you got beamed up as two people from that ion storm.” 

“Not my finest moment,” I manage. “But that’s the most fucked-up part of it all, Eleana. They _ violated _ me. They took my body and they sterilized me, made it so my skin would rip off every time I cut myself, turned me into a monster that literally eats people to live sometimes, and _ I like it _ . I _ like _ the strength. That tree, I did the same thing to Gul Ancet’s arm when he had you at gunpoint; part of me _ loves _ it. My eyes, my shooting’s gotten better since being augmented and it’s all my eyes, they’re like a fucking hawk’s. I can see colors I never even imagined and can’t even describe because I see on a wider range now. I can smell lies, I can track people like a fucking bloodhound, I can adapt to any injury and survive hits that would cripple or kill a regular person. 

“They violated me and turned me into a perversion of science and nature _ and I like it _. What the fuck is wrong with me?” 

“What you make of your situation has nothing to do with the crime that they committed,” she reassures me. “There’s nothing wrong with liking being stronger and faster and able to do your job better, there’s nothing about being this… no, being in this new body, there’s nothing inherently wrong about that or your reaction to that. The wrongness is in Section 31 _ forcing _ this on you.” 

I shake my head. “Maybe that works for Remans and Trill, but Human augments are…” 

“Oh, _ please _ ,” she retorts. “You think Trill are so forward-thinking? My mother’s people are some of the most benighted, bigoted, snooty bastards in the Federation. Do you know, I have an uncle who was Joined and died in an accident, they wouldn’t let his new incarnation and his husband figure out what to do with him as a new person who born female, but wanted to restart the relationship? It’s called ‘reassociation’, you can be fired and blacklisted for it and though it’s technically illegal since the ‘90s none of the local courts would do anything to help my uncle-in-law or my new uncle?” She shakes her head. “Bad enough that the symbiote wanted to reassociate, but that the host wanted to do it as well, _ and _ was starting the transition to male? There’s still stigma about doing _ that _ when you’re a host, too. 

“This… this nonsense about it being _ wrong _ simply to exist as you are, that’s no better than the mindless, stupid hatred my uncles had to go through. _ Nobody _ is an ‘abomination’ or whatever just for being who they are, and I _ hate _ it when you talk that way about yourself because _ all you’re doing is hurting yourself and making Ellen Shaw’s work easier _ .” I stand there wide-eyed, my mouth hanging open, and she pulls me into a kiss that leaves me gasping for breath. “I don’t know what you need to do to get through this, but I’m not qualified to help you figure it out, and you need to do it _ soon _.” 

I manage a nod. She pulls me in close and hugs me tight, and my breath catches, making her pull back immediately. “Oh no, I’m sorry…” 

“I’m fine,” I insist weakly. “I’m fine. Just… a bit sudden.” 

“I’m so sorry, Rachel, are you…” 

“I’ll be fine,” I assure her, which is bullshit because I’m _ not _ fine, I’m a broken wreck and I hate admitting that, but it’s easier than the alternative. “I just need to get better. Not feel so...you know.” 

“I’m here for you,” she promises, hooking her arm around mine. I see moonlight glint off of something over by the property line and look over instinctively; oh, somebody with a phaser on patrol. Security detail. I force myself to breathe more slowly. “Here’s the thing, though. I believe that you can do this. Ellen Shaw’s had her organs scooped out and replaced with metal and plastic, but _ you _ , Rachel, you’re _ alive _ in there, and you’re at least as badass as that bitch is. You fought the Herald leader and survived, you saved the Praetor of the Romulan Empire from being killed by the Iconians, you pulled off a hostage rescue while outnumbered twenty to one without losing anything more than a couple of hairs off of my head. Ellen Shaw hasn’t done anything that difficult in years, and _ she _ doesn’t have one of the best ships in the Fleet and a team of commandos backing her up.” 

“What, I’m going to win by the power of heart?” 

“No,” she promises me. “You’re going to win because you’ve _ earned _ it. And one day, you’re going to look at Ellen Shaw from the outside of your cell, and you’re going to know that she can’t hurt you, ever again.” 

***

_ Kanril Eleya. Starfleet sector headquarters, Regulus Starbase _. 

I’m the last to arrive in the briefing room, thanks to some kind of transporter trouble. A tall alien with metal legs, a civilian-grade set I’ve seen advertised before, is muttering and messing with some communications gear—I think she’s a Kreetassian, a species from the inner Federation who mostly live on a couple of planets and stick to themselves. Their society’s big on social protocol. Standing by the table are a burly Tellarite woman, a Cardassian who’s even younger than me, and a tall Bolian, all of them with Captain’s pips, and a Human woman in MACO colors with three solids on her collar. 

“Sorry I’m late,” I start, but the Tellarite waves me off as she turns, letting me see the scar across her forehead and part of her cheek. 

“Don’t be, Captain Kanril, we’re having some technical issues.” 

“Yoyodyne is shit,” the Human elaborates. “And Maintenance’s been shorthanded since the war.” 

“Fair enough. Kanril Eleya, Captain, USS _ Bajor _.” I offer a hand. 

“Pratal Mox, USS _ Mahapiya Luta _,” the Bolian introduces himself, shaking my hand. 

“Ghaz char Makal, USS _ Hanoi _,” the Tellarite says. She salutes. “Your work’s impressive, Captain.” 

“Samara Ocett,” the Cardassian introduces herself with a firm handshake. “Captain, USS _ Sentinel _. Your plan and that MACO officer attached to your ship saved my life at Iconia. It’s an honor, Captain Kanril.” Her uniform’s so crisp it practically sheds starch, and her spine’s so straight I suspect she was born at attention. 

“Honor’s mine.” I hide my instinctive groan at the apparent stuffed shirt. Hopefully this one can think outside of the book once in a while. “I don’t think we’ve met?” 

“Not in person, Captain. I served mostly around the Cardassian Union and in the Gamma Quadrant, predominantly counter-terrorism duties, before the Iconian War.” 

“Any relation to the Malyn Ocett on the Detapa Council?” 

Her lips twitch into a faint grimace. “My oldest aunt. We don’t speak; my mother immigrated to the Federation after the Dominion turned on Cardassia, and my aunt disapproved.” 

“Fair enough, sorry I asked.” I turn to the next person as she comes up; a brunette Human with pale skin and a MACO officer’s uniform. I smile, holding up a hand. “Good to see you again, Roxy.” Commander Roxanne Mayhew’s a mid-ranking MACO officer I’ve worked with before a few times. Before she got promoted and got a desk job, I pulled her unit out of a classified clusterfrakas in the Delta Volanis cluster back in ‘07 or ‘08. 

“You, too, Captain,” she says, shaking my hand. “I understand one of mine is involved in this mess?”

“That’s right. Lieutenant Rachel Connor. She’s recovering, but it wasn’t great.” 

Mayhew whistles. “I remember her, from her training tour. She came out of the Academy when I was done with my first 5-year deployment. Centimeter or two below average height, worked like a demon, went to all the parties, made friends easily and bed-mates even easier, had one hell of a reputation—the other cadets called her ‘Dickbreaker’. She must’ve had a lot of stress to work off. Saw she pulled off that op on the Iconian flagship, she’s come a long way.” 

OK, this one I’ve gotta hear. “Dickbreaker?” 

Mayhew chuckles. “Your girl’s got an appetite. There was apparently something involving another woman, a sex toy, and a _ creative _ position.” 

I frown at that one. “Weird. Until she got a girlfriend a couple months ago the rumor going around the grapevine was that she was growing cobwebs down there. Must’ve been something to do with her involuntary vacation at the hands of the Borg.” Actually, it makes sense when I think about it—the traumatic experience probably caused enough stress, and we _ knew _ that Connor had psych problems and was beyond wound-tight before Shaw went at her

Mayhew winces. “Yeah, that would fuck anyone’s head up.” 

I nod in response, brow furrowed. Something about Mayhew’s remarks has me thinking. Lieutenant Connor had a fairly normal psych profile in 2405 according to the records I checked. Outgoing and confident, if I remember the comments correctly. But...A memory flashes in front of my eyes for a moment. Connor sitting in her chair, eyes down, hands clenched, just sitting there and taking it as her ancestor, that _ phekk’ta _ racist al-Omani bitch, calls her an animal who should be put down right there in front of me. She didn’t even show anger. 

Prophets, I think that woman might be more _ phekk _ed in the head than I thought. 

The Kreetassian at the head of the table clears her throat. “If we’re all here?” 

Ocett pulls a seat out for me—I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I guess if you come up with the plan that saves the Federation, you get treated like _ phekk’ta _ royalty. 

“This meeting, and all materials that will be distributed herein, is classified OGRE BALLAD FOUNTAIN,” the Kreetassian begins. “This meeting will also cover topics of a politically sensitive nature--you all have been vetted, but if there’s anyone here who has opposition to Human genetic augmentation that we’re not already aware of, you should leave now and we’ll bring in someone else.” 

Nobody moves, though Mox frowns slightly from across the table. The Kreetassian nods in satisfaction. “Good. I’m Bev Kree-Sanat, I’m with Starfleet Intelligence. As of two months ago I’m an aide to Vice Admiral Alvatrassi zh’Zoarhi, head of Starfleet Intelligence Section One.” Internal Security—Section One handles primarily monitoring and intervention against domestic terrorists like Section 31, the Circle, and neo-Optimum groups. They also took the lead against the Undine during the infiltration crisis before the Undine civil war heated up. “This case has her _ personal _ attention.” Kree-Sanat flicks on a screen on the wall, and zh’Zoarhi’s face settles into visibility. “Admiral, you’re on.” 

It's only my second time speaking to her, but I looked in an encyclopedia since then—she really does look a lot like her famous ancestor Admiral Shran. “_ Thank you, Agent. I’ll keep this brief. Several weeks ago, Lieutenant Rachel Connor, Commander MACO Unit 131, was abducted by Section 31 operatives seeking to convert her into a living weapon. She was recovered thanks to an investigation conducted by Captain Kanril’s security chief, but one of the Section 31 people escaped. We just got a possible lead on said operative’s location; your job is to find her. _” 

“Who’s the target?” Ocett asks. 

“Here,” Kree-Sanat says, pulling up an image on the table holo. I clench my jaw as I see the _ ye’phekk maktal kosst amojan _who raped my officer; the image shows a tall, muscular redhead, full-chested and with a cocky smirk on the kind of sexy bad-girl face that was all the rage in the Bajoran Militia’s circulating porn cache. “Ellen Lydia Shaw, former MACO O-5 and currently #6 on FSA’s Most Wanted. Born in New York to a family of diplos going back two centuries, went to the Academy to get into MACO, youngest Commander in the service’s history before she got caught disobeying orders and court-martialed. Wanted for dereliction of duty, treason, prison break, crimes against sentient life, murder one, aggravated assault, aggravated rape, attempted murder, conspiracy murder, accessory to kidnapping, and document fraud. About a month ago, she was involved in the kidnapping, rape, and torture of Lieutenant Connor; Shaw is a suspected Section 31 operative and we’re taking this as confirmation. She’s been heavily modified with advanced cybernetics--here’s reconstructions based on helmet-cam footage and reports from soldiers on the ground.” The hologram’s body lights up with metal bones and proposed motorization. 

“I know her,” Mayhew says. “She was in all the recruiting vids for years. Top of her class, record scores on some of the combat evals. She was being groomed for command, higher-ups wanted her to run the whole division someday. Then she tortured and killed a HVT despite live-capture orders and went off the rez. Jesus, how much Human is there left in her after all that?” 

“What are her capabilities?” Ocett asks. 

“I sent in my ship’s assault unit and the rest of Lieutenant Connor’s MACO squad,” I reply. “Shaw showed strength and speed well beyond the Human and even Vulcan baselines, she thrashed Lieutenant Connor herself in under five seconds, and the Lieutenant has a few _ upgrades _ of her own due to an incident at Vega Colony. I’d say if you took one of those Gorn augments that Amar Singh had a couple of years ago, the _ Hippocrates _incident, that’s about comparable.” 

Mayhew curses. “That explains how she escaped the women who saved the Federation.” 

“Oh?” Kree-Sanat asks. 

“Think about it—Rachel Connor pulled off a boarding op so insane I’m _ still _ trying to figure out how she even survived, and someone had to doctor the footage that got released to the public to hide whatever implants _ she _ has.” I tense—I thought Intel had classified the un-doctored suit cam footage I gave them so high even I can’t access it. “Captain Kanril was nearby _ on her battleship _ , and Shaw still thrashes one of the best MACOs alive _ and _ escapes a battleship captained by a seasoned officer who won us the Iconian War? I am _ not _ looking forward to sending a team to catch a fugitive capable of getting out of that situation unassisted.” 

“She had a stealth shuttle with integrated quantum slipstream,” I note. “That said, I was in orbit with the _ Bajor _ , had real-time contact with Petty Officer Lamont and the rest of Lieutenant Connor’s squad, and the former warned me that Shaw was escaping in a stealth shuttle even before she got out of the hangar. She still thrashed Lamont _ and _ Lieutenant Connor, in unpowered armor versus Lamont, himself a seasoned MACO, in a SHARUR hardsuit and supported by a top-rated MACO tech and a heavy-weapons man, then she bugged out before we could even execute a tachyon scan. I’ve gone out of my way to get the best people who didn’t make the _ Enterprise _, and Shaw got away almost before we even knew she was running. That bitch has all the training of a top-flight MACO Delta officer, plus cybernetic augmentations that would make the Borg jealous.” 

“How did Connor last more than a couple of seconds?” Mox asks. 

I look to zh’Zoarhi on the comm panel; she clears her throat. “_ This part of the briefing is the politically sensitive part, Captain Mox. Lieutenant Connor was genetically augmented well beyond the Human baseline by Section 31 in 2407 or 2408, and has been of interest to Starfleet Intelligence ever since. I’ve pulled some strings to try to keep her safe and active, in other words. _” 

“So this is part of some complicated political spat?” Mox challenges. 

“_ Capturing Shaw is not. Keeping Lieutenant Connor’s… _ condition _ … private most assuredly is, until such a time as she decides to go public _.” 

“If it helps,” I add, “think of it this way; Lieutenant Connor’s a loyal officer who saved thousands of lives even though she’s technically illegal. The bitch who raped her is a traitor who’s working for a domestic terrorist group.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, I hate traitors as much as the next person, and there’s a special place in the Dark Forest reserved for rapists,” Mox allows. “But I don’t want to get involved with Human racial politics. That stuff’s poison.” 

“Won’t get any argument from me,” Mayhew mutters. “Jesus. Under the Zurich Conventions, Connor’s not even legally a person now. You can’t even charge Shaw with the rape count, technically.” 

“We’ve made sure it can easily get on the docket just in case Rachel decides to sue for her rights,” Kree-Sanat says. “Intel’s been after that psychopath Shaw for the better part of a decade, we want her put away for as long as possible.” 

“You know Lieutenant Connor?” char Makal asks. 

“We were buddies at the Academy,” Kree-Sanat replies. “This was before I lost my best features, of course.” She taps her cyber-legs for emphasis. 

“Does Shaw have any major weaknesses?” Ocett asks. 

“From what psych evals we have, Shaw is an arrogant psychopath with possible delusions of grandeur,” Kree-Sanat says. “Goading her should be pretty easy, but I wouldn’t do that without a _ thick _ wall between her and me. Going for the knees might help--joints are a weak point even on military-grade cyber-legs.” 

“Can’t we just beam her into a brig?” char Makal asks. 

I shake my head. “She’s got some kind of implant that emits a local scattering field, at least that’s what my team thinks. Essentially, she can jam hostile transports.” 

“So we’re hunting a sexy T-800,” Mayhew mutters. “Wonderful.” 

“More like Cameron, from _ The Sarah Connor Chronicles _,” I point out. “Closer approximation, anyway. The T-800 was never directly based on a person, canonically, unless you count the 23rd century remakes that got retconned away.” 

Everybody blinks at me for a moment like I grew a second head. “Where did _ that _ come from?” Mayhew asks with surprise. 

I shrug. “I read some M.D. Cooper and Asimov in middle school English class, then I got hooked on those old twodees while I was in the Militia—guy in my section swapped a redshirt from the _ Eridanus _ a case of springwine for a box set of _ Star Wars _ and _ Old Man’s War _. And, uh, don’t pass this around too much, but I based Mockingbird off of an idea I got from Tolkien. The concept, anyway.” 

Ocett clears her throat as Mayhew stifles an amazed chuckle. “Human cultural apocrypha aside—would orbital bombardment work?” 

“She’s going to be acting as an assassin, with an escape shuttle close at hand,” Kree-Sanat says. “Civilian casualties are, of course, unacceptable.” 

“Anesthezine gas, flood the general area?” Mox offers. 

“If she’s _ anything _ like Lieutenant Connor, her systems will have a counter,” I state. 

“How about this,” char Makal speaks up. “This psycho’s a supersoldier. Well, we _ have _ a supersoldier—one that’s in therapy, but still a supersoldier. We might be best off just brute-forcing it. Herd Shaw in with MACO teams and Security regulars and then send in Connor.” 

“That’s _ really _ risky,” Mayhew says. “When we had to bring Shaw in, back when she was still Human, the bitch eliminated or foiled ten full MACO units sent against her and the operators who stayed loyal to her. Fucking disaster. Yeah, some of it was her getting lucky—she was able to go to ground on a borderline-habitable world and then cut a trail through Orion space, pissed off three major cartels that were all gunning for her, us, and each other. Giant fucking mess, nearly boiled over onto our side, then the Klingons decided to take a jab at the Hromi cluster and we spent a couple of years beating them back until J’mpok pulled out and declared victory to cover his ass. But still. That was when she was _ baseline _. This woman’s the best, of the best, of the best.” 

“On the flip side, so is Lieutenant Connor,” I cut in. “She pulled off a boarding op half the brass thought was physically impossible, with no fatalities among the boarding team. _ In the middle of Mockingbird _—you know, the battle to save our civilization.” 

“Yeah, but she’s an augment. How much of that is the skill and how much is the raw genetics?” 

“Does it matter?” I shake my head. “Admiral, do you have suit-cam footage from the raid on the Section 31 asteroid base?” 

“_ Yes. Kree-Sanat, play file Susan-Alpha-Niner-Omicron-Tau. _” 

The agent pulls up a file on the screen, and hits Play. Petty Officer Lamont’s power-armored hands force a door open, and he charges into the fray against Shaw, who has him on the ground in mere seconds. Mayhew and the Tellarite hiss in sympathy as the MACO’s tossed around like a rag doll. Shaw then leans over to open the door, and Connor comes tearing out buck-naked and showing partial chitin being pulled back under her skin. She throws Shaw off-balance, gets beaten off, kills one of the psychopath’s minions in a blur of motion, then throws the corpse at Shaw, who stumbles back but deflects the Lieutenant’s follow-up charge before knocking her back and running with half her face torn off. 

There’s a moment of silence as the video freezes. 

“And that’s… _ after _ being tortured, right?” Mox asks. 

“After multiple days of torture, partial starvation, psychological degradation to the point she was losing her identity, and repeated rape,” I confirm. “It was hard to determine exactly what they did because of Lieutenant Connor’s modifications, but based on her testimony she seems to have spent most of the time either being tortured or hung up by her arms with little to no food or drink. The way her metabolism works, she was barely able to _ stand _ in that footage. Not to mention that they’d left her mind a shell of itself.” 

“Well, if _ that’s _ what she’s like after the equivalent of sped-up Rura Penthe on steroids, I’d hate to fight her at full capacity,” Mayhew mutters. Ocett nods in agreement. 

“If we can deploy the Lieutenant, we may be able to stop Shaw with minimal loss of personnel and civilian life. It will be dangerous either way. Do we have a full compilation of Shaw’s cybernetics?” 

“_ No _ ,” zh’Zoarhi replies with a disgruntled expression. “ _ All we have is assumptions based on demonstrated capabilities. There is also the possibility that she has been implanted with more technology since the incident. _” 

“So we’re flying blind against a cyborg supersoldier with elite commando skills who can thrash a team of seasoned MACOs in ten seconds flat,” Mayhew sums up. “Our best shot without risking civilian casualties is to deploy a traumatized augment who apparently scabs really well.” 

“Those weren’t scabs in the footage,” I cut in. “Connor’s body reacts if you hit her—being sliced up made her grow armor plating through her skin.” 

“Don’t you mean _ over _her skin?” 

I grimace. “I _ wish _.” Mayhew looks sick. 

“Yeah, that’s one of the crimes against sentient life we have on the back burner just in case Franklin Drake ever gets out of prison and we get the opportunity to re-try him,” Kree-Sanat says. “What Section 31 did to Rachel…” She shakes her head with a grimace. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. If her skin gets cut, she grows keratin plating that punches through her upper dermis all over her body. Lasts for about a day before she absorbs it again.” 

“And she _ keeps _ going into combat?” char Makal asks. “Does she at least have augmented pain tolerance?” 

I shake my head. “Nope. It isn’t just being cut that she adapts to. Phaser fire or burns, the scales’ structure comes out resistant to heat. Acid, she starts to vent caustic salts from her pores. And the best way we have to _ stop _ her from going through this is a drug cocktail—poison, really—that my people are pretty sure only works by overwhelming her system for a few hours. That can delay the reaction for up to a quarter-hour, but it’s not a cure.” 

“Jesus fucking christ,” Mayhew whispers. “They did this to her _ on purpose _?” 

“From what we’ve gleaned, the end goal was something like what Lieutenant Connor represents,” Kree-Sanat says. “But they went through a lot of trial and error. Even with some parts of her genome being heavily modified derivatives of Bolian and Vulcanoid genes, it still took them numerous tries to create her.” 

“They called Lieutenant Connor ‘Subject 87’,” I note. “I don’t know if they have more like her, but that sounds to me like they had a lot of failures.” 

“And they did this to _ living people _ ?” Captain Mox asks. “By the thousand eyes of Trell— _ how was this allowed to happen _?” 

“Section 31’s got ties to Yoyodyne Division’s board,” Kree-Sanat explains. “We’ve been trying to prove a link for years, but for our purposes, the important part is that Yoyodyne’s been slipping them funding and protection through shell corporations, and Yoyodyne makes enough parts for Starfleet that we can’t take ‘em down without consequences.” 

“These are _ people _ ,” Mox snarls. “What do we stand for if we can’t prevent such... _ experiments _?” 

“_ A case is being made to take down Yoyodyne, _ ” zh’Zoarhi replies calmly. “ _ The matter is being handled. What you need to worry about is the psychopathic cyborg. We have two leads: her family, and a one-line message we pulled off of an extranet dark server that we think indicates that Shaw’s still somewhere in this sector block. _ ” She points to Mox and char Makal. “ _ You two are on search duty. Up to you how it gets done. Mayhew, we need any MACO contacts you have who might be in contact with Shaw. _” 

“And us?” Ocett asks. Eager. I like it. 

Oh, Prophets, I can’t be five years older than her and I’m already thinking like a _ phekk’ta _ wise old mentor. 

“_ You and Captain Kanril will be leveraging her reputation and your contrasting manners. While Agent Kree-Sanat handles Shaw’s family on Earth, I want you two to talk to her parents. I’ll put you in touch with the local governor so you can interrogate them. They were… _ uncooperative _ during the last investigation, so expect recalcitrance _.” 

“My security chief’s an ex-cop and he’s read in on Lieutenant Connor’s nature,” I note. “Should I read him in?” 

“_ Have him coordinate with Captain Mox and Captain char Makal, but otherwise use your assets as you feel best. _” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“That should about cover it,” Kree-Sanat wraps up. “One last warning—if you find Shaw, _ do not engage _ until we can work out a strike plan. Any questions?” 

We look at each other, and char Makal and I shake our heads. “No, Commander Kree-Sanat,” the Tellarite growls. 

“_ Let me make this absolutely clear _ ,” zh’Zoarhi says over the comm. “ _ As I hope this briefing has shown, Ellen Shaw is a highly dangerous fugitive who should not be underestimated, but she’s privy to politically sensitive information, and her brain contains valuable information pertaining to the inner workings of a terrorist group that’s on Admiral Chakotay’s shit list, and mine to boot. I want her alive and with her brain intact, and then I want her in a secure cell with my foot up her ass. Use all appropriate caution and all appropriate force _. 

“_ Find me that traitor. Zh’Zoarhi out _.” 

Well, at least we have a clear mission. 

***

_ Rachel. Planetside. _

Talking to my Mom has never exactly been my strong point. 

I mean, I sucked at it as a kid and teenager since we’ve got such different interests, I sucked before I got assimilated because I was a contrary bitch more interested in fucking my way through every dick and pussy that I could pick up on shore leave than keeping a good relationship with my family, and when I woke up an aug-freak I spent years just trying to hide and didn’t even call. 

All that adds up to a big ol’ ball of freaking out bubbling inside me as Mom cooks dinner. 

“Is it helping?” she asks as I sort of lurk by the counter. 

“What?” 

“Being here, having us here. Is it…” She bites her lip. 

I shrug. “Yeah. I just...I dunno. Everybody says it’s fine. I don’t _ feel _ fine. Then they say it’s fine _ that I’m fucked up _. It doesn’t make a lick of sense, either you’re fucked up or you’re not.” My voice cracks. “And I keep having goddamn nightmares.” 

“Nightmares?” She’s deceptively calm. 

“_ Shaw _.” 

“Oh. How about you cut up the eggplant for me?” Couldn’t be more blatant about changing the subject, but, well…

“Sure. Yeah.” I grab the knife, and my hand’s shaking, I force myself to take a breath and grip it carefully. Would suck to scare Mom with my adaptation. “I, uh. Got another medal.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Pulled off a raid on a True Way-held site with hostages, no civilian casualties. Live-captured a Gul who was on the Cardassian Union’s top-ten most wanted. Whole team got a unit citation, Kallio’s running out of chest space now and he only transferred to my unit last year. Well, more I poached him from an undermanned squad before Mockingbird, called in my last favor with Y’Chell.” 

“Who?” 

“Rear Admiral Tamanir Y’Chell. Head of MACO. He felt he owed me ‘cause his cousin was in the Fleet, too, as an engineer, and I pulled the poor guy out of a foxhole in the Arucanis Arm a while back. I got injured on that mission, my own fault really.” I shrug. “People get like that. Thinkin’ they owe people favors just for doing a good job. I had to learn to count those while I was on the run.” 

“Are you alright with talking about that? Being on the run, I mean,” Mom asks. 

I suck in a breath, but nod. “Yeah. It was… shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t call or message you or Dad or Mahmud or Amy or anyone.” 

“You _ were _ on the run from terrorists.” 

“Yeah, but…” 

“Maybe we can talk about it now?” she suggests. “Make it up to me, if you feel you should?” 

I lick my lips, but find myself nodding anyway. “I guess. So, yeah, the Breen who picked up my escape pod from the Section 31 base, nice guys, they offered to take me anywhere in the region. I said Cardassian space. Hung out for a few months on a backwater colony that grew lillies to cure some disease. Nice little old Cardassian lady, her son was conscripted in the Dominion War and died on Septimus III when the Klingons took it. She liked having me around. Said she always wanted a good responsible kid. I was thinking about settling down, some nights. Then it all went to shit; I pulled a kid out from under collapsed irrigation gear bare-handed, and someone got footage, sent it to their cousin on another planet, Section 31 saw it, sent a hit team. Woke up to find guys in the house, trying to get me to beam me out—the farm colony had transporter scramblers and shields, too many True Way bandits out in that sector to not take precautions—anyway, they were in the house, Malyn was dead. I killed them all, stole a shuttle, and left for Kora II. They caught me there two weeks later when some assholes picked a fight with me in a bar while I was working on a loading dock, I lost my temper and threw them through the window. Had to escape a wetwork team disguised as Cardie Intel guys in an apartment block and got out on a commercial liner. Made it to Cardassia Prime, they sent a cleaner and another hit team after me, this one in plain clothes.” 

“Cleaner?” 

“Cleans the scene. Makes bodies disappear. Generally knows enough engineering to make the transporter his bitch to send your corpse into the nearest star or whatever, scary shit. Anyway, after I took out a couple of them and stowed away on a bulk freighter, I headed for Earth. I couldn’t keep hiding without backup, I knew if I was ‘rescued from the Borg’ I could go back to work and have a team of the Federation’s best all around me 24/7. Called in a favor with a Councilman whose ass I saved back in ‘05, he got me onto a ship, arranged things through his contacts in the Fleet and with Intel, and boom, I’m reactivated. Few lines in my file about me being rescued in Gamma Orionis during some skirmish or other, brief convalescence, reactivated, sent to lead a unit whose officer retired early, psych stress; that’s my team. Lamont, Luiz, K’tar, and my old second, Oran Talur. Nice guy, Bolian, really friendly. Had a family.” The smell of spices wafts up from where Mom’s mixing something up, and I lick my lips. “They all knew about my, uh, situation. They said an Intel guy briefed them and made the consequences of spilling the beans clear. That was three years ago. Talur went down in a skirmish a couple weeks before Mockingbird. Total clusterfuck, I was down an arm and both legs, Luiz was hurt, Talur held the enemy off while we evacced. Blew out a liquid helium coolant tank and froze half the deck. He died instantly. Took out all the Heralds.” 

“Oh,” Mom manages. Yeah, I’m definitely dumping too much on her. 

“Yeah. Sorry. Not relevant.” I lick my lips. “Anyway. I poached Kallio off of another unit that was getting broken up--officer and two operators killed in a FUBARed mission during the initial Iconian invasion, all that. So. Yeah. That’s basically where I was when I showed up on your doorstep with Lamont dragooned as my plus one.” 

“I remember. You said that you bribed him with alcohol?” 

“Something like that.” I finish the eggplant and start on the peppers. “So. Yeah. I’m a bit fucked up.” 

“Oh, honey…” Mom looks away from the pot for a moment to rest a hand on my shoulder. “Rachel. I can’t begin to understand everything that you’ve gone through. But I don’t blame you, or resent you, or hold _ anything _ of what happened against you.” 

“_ I got people killed _ ,” I spit. “I got Malyn and Talur and a bunch of people in a bus on Cardassia Prime killed, there’s no way around that. And I got to live. Me, with this bullshit aug strength and this bullshit adaptation crap and this _ bullshit fucking aug body! _” The knife comes down on my hand, and Mom yanks my arm out of the way just in time. 

“I think the peppers are diced enough now,” she says briskly, taking the cutting board and the knife from my shaking hands. “Sit on the stool here,” she orders, and I’m six years old again and obey automatically. “We’re talking about something else next. But you’re a grown woman, Rachel, you know as well as I do that those deaths aren’t _ your _ fault. That Cardassian woman was murdered by Section 31, _ they _ pulled the trigger, _ they _ made that choice. Your second in command gave his life to save his ship and comrades, and your father would be _ so _ disappointed if he heard you cheapening that man’s sacrifice.” 

“Yes, Mom,” I manage. My hands grip the stool’s seat so hard it starts to splinter, and I take a deep breath. “It’s just…” _ If I’d done something different. If I’d let the kid die on that colony. If I’d been faster on the _ Patagonia _ and hadn’t lost my legs, if Talur hadn’t had to hold them off, if I’d moved faster, hidden better, been better than this monster they made me into… _

“This is not a debate.” She gives me a meaningful look, and holds it; I go to look away, but she puts her hand on my chin and turns me back to look her in the eye until I stop shaking and say it. 

“Yes, Mom.” 

She gives me a smile and turns back to the food. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. So! What should we discuss next? No religion or politics in the house, you know the rules.” With an Ibadi, a lapsed Catholic, two atheists, and a Campbell-Johnsonist in my immediate family, that principle was a mandate for as long as I can remember. 

I try to think of something to say. _ How’s Dad doing _? No, Amy already told me that. Christ. I should’ve gone with Amy and Eleana, I’m ruining the whole experience here...

“So that Ensign Valen of yours is quite a nice young lady,” Mom says before I can devolve any further into panic, stirring the rice. “Check on the mackerel for me, dear?” 

“Sure, Mom. And, uh, yeah, I like her. A lot. Um, we’re dating.” 

“Well that’s nice! How long now?” 

“Couple of months. Mackerel needs another ten minutes, I think.” 

“That’s good...she’s your first steady partner since...the incident at Vega Colony, isn’t she?” She can’t bring herself to mention my missing year. The year I was assimilated, the year Section 31 bought my walking corpse and turned me into a monster. The year I mercifully only remember in flashes. 

“Yeah. First at all, since then. First at all since SERE, actually--one-night stands on Risa don’t really count. Think I burned off a lot of energy before I shipped out.” I lick my lips. “Mom, I think I love her. Like, a lot.” 

“Good!” Mom turns from the rice and gently grips my shoulders; I look up, suppressing the involuntary shiver at being boxed off. She means well. It’s a little mistake. “Sweetie, this is good. You’re getting your life back together. And besides, she’s a very nice girl, she’ll make a good wife and mother.” 

I flush purple. Literally. “Mom!” 

“Besides, she’s part Vulcanoid, you know they live longer, so you have time.” 

“Mom, I’m not going to have kids in my eighties!” I can’t help but chuckle at my own bizarre statement, and Mom turns. I feel a sudden burst of self-consciousness, and my skin drains to pale grey as I duck my head. 

Mom reaches over and gently lays a hand on my bicep. “Rachel. You should take things at your own pace.” I hear her huff with a chuckle of her own. “Besides, that _ was _ funny.” 

I look up with a weak smile. Part of me marvels at how shit I am at all this. I can kill a Gorn commando with my bare hands but I can barely talk to my own mother. “I guess. I just… She doesn’t care, Mom. She doesn’t care I’m an Augment, she…” My voice breaks. “She thinks I’m _ beautiful _. I come out of the gym soaked in sweat, no makeup, no nothing, and she looks at me like Venus on that seashell in that one painting.” 

“Don’t let her get away,” Mom advises me. She chuckles again, and I look up in surprise. “Oh, Rachel. When I met your father, I felt the same way. There I was, a young literature major with no real goal in life, meeting a dashing Fleet man in a bar… oh, he was so _ handsome _ back in the day, William could charm the habit off of a nun!” She smiles fondly at the memory, and I make a face. “Oh, hush. Anyway, I met him, and for the first few months, years even, I could barely believe it! Here was this dashing, accomplished Fleet man, right after the Dominion War too, engineering record with decorations and a dress uniform crisp as the day it was replicated. And he wanted little old me! No goal, no looks, stumbling over my words and blushing every other sentence, and he chose _ me _ .” She sighs. “When you find that person, _ don’t let them get away _.” 

I can’t help but lunge forwards, and Mom gives a little _ eep _! as I wrap my arms around her. “I’m sorry,” I sob into her shoulder, and I don’t know what I’m apologizing for. Not calling often? Hiding for years? Leaving her and the rest of my family when I got assimilated? Being an augment? 

“You don’t have to be,” she promises, and squeezes me gently. “Rachel? Sweetie, I have to stir the rice.” 

I pull back, wiping tears from my eyes onto my sleeve with a sniffle. “Right. Sorry, Mom.” 

“Don’t apologize, sweetie. Just...I’m here, OK? Your sister, too. If you need us. So, if you need help...don’t hesitate, just call, OK?” 

I nod, eyes still wet. “Yeah. Yes, Mom. I will.” 

I feel a pit of fear open in my gut, knowing that I’m probably lying, to her and me both. 

***

_ Kanril Eleya. Regulus IV colonial capital ‘New Angkor’ _. 

Governor Mak Khean, a plump Human female with those weird epicanthically-folded eyes some of the people from Earth’s Asian continent get, isn’t exactly happy to have a couple of Starfleet officers barging in with Intel authorization to commandeer one of her senior ministers for questioning, but when she hears the name Lloyd Shaw, she becomes a _ lot _ more cooperative. 

“Guess Shaw’s parents aren’t exactly popular,” I mutter to Ocett as the governor makes the call. The Cardassian nods without a twitch of her face. Prophets, you could reach up her ass and pull out the stick, and she’d _ still _ be as stiff as an over-starched dress uniform. 

“I’m sorry for the hassle,” the governor says after she hangs up. “Lloyd and Annette Shaw are two of the biggest pains in my ass on this whole planet.” 

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrow. 

“Yeah. Diplos from Earth, retired here after some sort of scandal that I guess didn’t make national news, then decided to get involved in local politics. Between their connections and the problem of getting decent candidates…” She shakes her head with a grimace. 

“Running for district factory supervisor’s more important than district legislator, huh?” Big problem with living in a borderline anarcho-socialist state awkwardly grafted onto a sprawling patchwork republic, the labor federations have so much power that everybody wants to run in their union election or at the federal level, not for the local government, so governorships and state legislators can get starved for talent if things are too stable for too long, which leaves an opening for self-aggrandizing assholes. 

“Is during peacetime. Honestly, it was more money and harnessing the diplo-class vote with the Shaws; a lot of Earth diplos retire to the eastern continent, there’s a nice tropical belt that’s got a lot of beaches at just the right temperature. Lloyd finagled his way onto the legislature, then maneuvered and connived himself into a dead-end ministerial role, and now he’s a massive pain in my ass. Anyway, I have to admit, I’m half-hoping he’s gotten into another scandal. ‘Least it’d get him out of my hair.” 

“Sorry. Just doing some background work on his daughter.” 

“They have a daughter?” Khean frowns. “Weird. They never mentioned one.” 

“Yeah, They didn’t do anything this time. That I know of, anyway.” 

Khean grunts. “Pity. If I have to deal with _ one more proposal _ to build another resort on protected land I swear I’m going to throw Lloyd into the sea.” 

Well, these sound like some charming people. 

Khean has a staffer lead us to a side office, where Ocett and I pull a pair of chairs up behind a desk while Shaw’s parents are transported in somewhere else in the government complex. “You’ve got a full heavy cruiser up there. Why didn’t you ask to go out on the grid-pattern search instead of playing the long-shot odds down here?” I ask as we wait. 

“The_ Sentinel _ requires repairs to the starboard nacelle—a skirmish with pirates, preying on the post-Iconian War shipping lanes, that went worse than expected. And I am afraid that I’m no maverick like you, ma’am.” She says it in a genuinely neutral tone, and I’m still not sure exactly what to make of her. “I assume that you are here because of your officer?” 

I nod. “She needs the time off. Honestly, all of my people do—I’ve been working them hard, between the Iconian aftermath and the Cardassian situation and the aftermath of the Talarians’ collapse—that plus the remnant of the Tal’Shiar junta still operating a few ships as pirates and the rumors of disruption in the Dominion, space is a lot more stressful than it was just a couple of years ago.” 

Ocett nods once sympathetically. “We all need personal time.” I guess that’s as close as this one gets to a party. Still, better stiff than an asshole. 

Shaw’s parents remind me unpleasantly of Ambassador Sugihara when they arrive. Something about the angle they hold their heads, the old-fashioned suit and feminine-cut pantsuit, the way Lloyd Shaw steps out in front and the lemon-sucking grimace Annette gives Ocett—it reeks of that weird presumption some of the Earth politicos get, the ones that haven’t been out of the core worlds in decades. Still, better to give ‘em the benefit of the doubt. 

“What’s this about?” Mr. Shaw demands. “We had an appointment at the spa, couldn’t this wait for a more appropriate time?” 

I give him my sweetest smile. “Sorry, it can’t. We need to talk about your daughter.” 

Lemon-sucking grimaces from both of them. “We’ve put that wretched business behind us,” Mrs. Shaw snaps. “Ellen has had no contact with us since her escape, and we were not complicit. Whoever freed her is surely doing good for the Federation, though.” 

“Hush, Anette,” Mr. Shaw cuts in. “What my wife says is correct, political statements notwithstanding. We can’t tell you anything about her current locations.” 

“I understand. We’re just trying to get a little more background on her psychology and upbringing. Maybe ask you about anywhere she might go to ground. I’ve been told that you weren’t interrogated last time she was in legal trouble, mostly because you had that alibi of not being contacted.” 

“If you’re insinuating…” 

“We insinuate nothing,” Ocett interrupts. “We must learn where your daughter might go to ground, be it another family estate or some safe house, and emotional ties are a sound beginning. Furthermore, I believe we would all prefer that this go quickly. So. I hope that you will volunteer the information that we need quickly and honestly.” 

Mr. Shaw grimaces again as his wife glares blue murder at the blandly nonresponsive Ocett, but goes back to talking. “Ellen was always exceptional. Strong, intelligent—she excelled in school and was always a natural athlete. Naturally, we endeavored to encourage those traits. She was enrolled in a series of private boarding schools throughout her primary schooling and teenage years, and attended Francis Holland, Regent’s Park until 16. Her final year there consisted of advanced curriculum to give her additional preparation for the Academy, as she had been accelerated through the standard curriculum due to her natural ability.” He recites it with obvious pride. 

“Francis Holland?” 

Mrs. Shaw sniffs. “_ Merely _ the most distinguished preparatory academy in Britain.” 

“Only the best for our daughter,” Mr. Shaw adds proudly.

I shrug nonchalantly. “No disrespect intended, I'm not from Earth.”

“Well, of course you aren’t, you’re… Bajoran, yes?”

Okay, now I'm a little annoyed. “Yes,” I simply acknowledge, biting back the urge to point out how many refugees ended up resettling in the Sol system during the Occupation. These days Mars has the second biggest population of Bajorans in the galaxy after the homeworld.

“Well, with the extra polish to her natural talents, Ellen was of course accepted into Starfleet Academy. I believe that the alumni recommendations were particularly glowing. She excelled at the Academy as well, of course, top marks in her classes, not to mention a Federation record for Human marksmanship in her combat training.” 

“Any disciplinary issues?” 

“You have her record, that should be obvious,” Mrs. Shaw replies sharply. 

“That record only includes formal discipline, ma'am. I’ve served long enough to know not everything gets dealt with on the record. And I recall it was the same way at the Academy. So. Any issues?” I give them a smile backed with steel. 

Mr. Shaw winces. “There was… an incident,” he admits. “Ellen… had a misunderstanding. There was a party, with contraband alcohol. I assume that she was merely acting out due to the stress, our daughter was raised a good Earth girl and was always well-behaved as a child. There was an accusation—clearly baseless and rooted in jealousy, of course—that she had… acted inappropriately while under the influence. We assured the Academy administration that it was all a misunderstanding, though it took some calls to certain friends of good social standing to reaffirm our daughter’s character. Disgraceful investigative efforts by the Academy, I thought, sticking so strongly to the word of a drunk C-student with a common _ thief _ for a grandfather.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “ _ What _ is our society coming to, that a bright young woman can have a promising career put at risk over some spurious accusations of a jealous alcoholic?” 

I keep my face as blandly neutral as possible, but I’ve got nothing on Ocett, who should’ve been a poker player. “Any other… _ incidents _?” 

“No, no, of course not! Well… except for a minor dispute over some nonsense—we sat down with campus security, and made it very clear that our daughter was provoked. Insulting Ellen’s ability was always something that she took very personally. She is the best, after all.” 

“What happened, exactly?” Though I’ve already got a good idea. 

“She… may have struck another cadet,” Mr. Shaw admits. “A terrible misunderstanding, of course. The other cadet clearly provoked her by questioning her History grade.” 

“Ellen was _ consistently _ graded very highly throughout her education,” Mrs. Shaw cuts in. 

“Yes, of course, her academic record is unquestionable.” 

“So someone said she hit another cadet in an argument and she sexually assaulted someone while drunk?” I ask. 

“Our daughter is _ not _ a criminal!” Mrs. Shaw insists. “Those accusations were clear slander by persons jealous of her success and attention-seekers.” 

“Do you know who was involved with the allegations?” Ocett asks. 

“Some Bolian boy was the first accuser, and an Andorian was involved in the altercation. I don’t remember their names,” Mr. Shaw says. “The Commandant of the Academy at the time was Azimir Idaris, a woman of a respectable Trill family despite her reluctance to dismiss the whole frivolous mess.” 

“I see,” Ocett says, then looks over to me. “I think that we have what we need?” 

I nod. We’ve got a lead now and these two aren’t going to give us a clearer picture. “One last thing. Do you know of anywhere she might go to ground?” Long shot, but worth the try. 

Mr. Shaw shakes his head. “Only our classical brownstone in London—survived the Third World War, you know—but she wouldn’t go there as long as she’s wanted.” 

“I thought as much.” I stand with Ocett, offering a hand to shake. “Thank you for your time.” 

Mrs. Shaw looks at my hand like it’s a bug on her shoe, but Mr. Shaw accepts. “Of course. And—if you can tell us—is Ellen safe?” 

Now I let the venom I've been holding off into my voice. “She’s one of the most wanted people in the Federation. A couple weeks ago she raped and tortured a decorated MACO officer while working as muscle for domestic terrorists. I can tell you that we’re going to take her alive, but she’s going to spend the rest of her life in prison when we catch her.” 

“My daughter would _ never _…” Mrs. Shaw starts, but her husband shushes her. 

“I see,” he says, face pale. “Well… thank you for the information, at any rate.” 

“If it helps,” Ocett says as she shakes the man’s hand, “everyone wishes that this had happened another way.” 

As we head to the transporter, I shake my head. “I’m getting a better picture of how Shaw got through psych evals, and I don’t like the picture.” 

“Oh?” Ocett asks. “In what way?” 

“Mommy and Daddy solved all her problems for her,” I explain. “Where are you from, anyway?” 

“Alpha Geminorum II, though I was born on Cardassia. I grew up in a refugee settlement run under a work-and-integration program set up by a local mining union.” Federation labor unions love to recruit outside labor; we bring in immigrants, set them up with entry-level jobs, then they bring in their families after they’ve had some time to mingle with the locals and we get a bunch of new residents to assimilate. Naturalization rates for the initial migrants are over 70% last I heard. 

“Fair enough. You probably didn’t get classism the same way we have on homeworlds like Earth and Bajor. Basically, Shaw’s social bloc is more concerned with saving face and protecting her reputation than getting justice. _ Massive _ problem centuries ago on Earth and pre-Occupation on Bajor; high-caste Bajorans could get away with anything, even against high-caste women. It’s still a minor issue in some areas, nowhere near as bad as it used to be, though.” 

“The benefits of a largely classless society?” 

I give the Cardassian a little grin. Maybe she isn’t a total stick in the mud. “Sure doesn’t feel classless at the moment. Guess we’ve still got a while to go. What I got from that, Shaw attacked someone for asking her about grades and tried to rape someone when she got drunk, but Mommy and Daddy had a talk with the Commandant and leveraged political friends who only knew Little Ellen, Lloyd and Annette’s precocious daughter, to make the charges disappear. She makes it through the Academy when she really shouldn’t, qualifies for MACO even though she should’ve been flagged as unsuitable, doesn’t get the psych treatment she needs to deal with the personality problems, someone doing the psych evals decides not to flag any borderline issues because she’s got standout marks, she goes out, she’s been told she’s the best and special her whole life, goes and earns some medals because she has real skills, but then the personality issues flare up and Command slaps her down.” 

“And because she hasn’t been seriously punished before…” 

“_ Exactly _ . She snaps, because she thinks she’s the best and doesn’t have to listen to anyone since Mommy and Daddy made all the problems go away before, but this time she’s a grown _ phekk’ta _ woman and there are real consequences. So she snaps, goes rogue, gets caught, Mommy and Daddy visit her in lockup and promise to make it go away, that doesn’t work, she’s thrown in prison, Section 31 offers her a way out… and she just gets worse because she isn’t getting treated.” 

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Ocett admits. “We should contact this Azimir Idaris.” 

“On the plus side,” I remark, “I think she might remember me; she retired two years after I graduated, and I had to get some paperwork figured out with her my first semester. Took three months, the sort of mess even a career bureaucrat remembers.” 

***

_ Rachel _

“Are you and Mom all good?” 

I nod at Amy’s question as we sit down by the lake. Mom’s up in the house chattering animatedly at Eleana, probably teaching her cooking or something. “Yeah, why do you ask?” 

“Well, I suppose, what with the way you used to be about kids, I guess I was worried she might piss you off by accident.” 

I grunt, feeling my jaw tense. “I…” Fuck. I lick my lips. “Mom knows boundaries. We haven’t talked about the kids thing at all. It’s… that’s not… that topic fucking hurts.” 

“Oh?” She lays a hand on mine. “Sis, it’s OK to talk about it, I won’t judge.” 

I bite out a fucked-up miserable laugh. “I can’t,” I admit. “They took that from me. They took that goddamn choice from me like they took my humanity.” My voice breaks, and Amy slides an arm under my shoulders as I start to cry. “I’m sterile now, Amy, my fucking ovaries atrophied and I don’t even have a period anymore. I mean, you could say it’s what I wanted. But I wanted no kids on _ my _ terms, not because some fucking psycho decided to turn me into a genetic abomination.” 

“C’mere,” Amy murmurs, letting me lean on her shoulder. “It’s gonna be OK. You can adopt, there’s plenty of war orphans who need a home, after all. There are choices.” 

“Yeah. But they made me… they took away my choice… I’m not a real woman anymore…” 

“_ Stop _,” my sister orders, voice hard. “That’s not you talking.” 

My vision’s gone blurry again. Fuck, I’m such a goddamn wreck. “Maybe Shaw was right when she called me an animal,” I bite out. “All I’m good for now is killing.” 

“I thought I just told you that’s bullshit?” Amy counters. “Come on, Rachel, you’re a smart woman. You looked an _ Iconian _ in the eye and killed it. You saved the Praetor of the Romulan Empire and earned the Medal of Honor. You helped save the entirety of Federation civilization. Half the _ galaxy _ owes you, at least in part, their lives.” She squeezes me tight. “You’re not an animal. You’re a woman, a _ hero _, who’s been through Hell and needs some help.” 

I sniffle again, and wipe my nose on my sleeve. “I can’t stop thinking about what she did to me,” I admit. “It comes up in my dreams, I’m back in that fucking cell and Shaw’s there. I can’t...I think I’m broken, Amy, I can’t do this.” 

“Yes you can,” she promises me. “Yes, you can. You’ve got two nephews, hopefully a niece at some point soon if our brother gets off his ass and impregnates his fiancee already, you’ve got parents and siblings and a ridiculously large extended family who care about you.” It’s true about our family; some of the traditionally working-class folks kept up the old big-family styles from the post-WW3 era, and ours is one of them. I’m pretty sure there are actually over a hundred cousins in my generation alone, ranging from a couple about five years older than me to actual babies. “Now c’mon. You’re smart, and tough, and strong enough to lift a shuttle, you’re going to push through. And that Shaw bitch is going to spend the rest of her life in a padded cell.” 

“I don’t deserve you guys,” I manage, looking away. “You, and Mom, and Dad, and Mahmud, and Eleana, and the boys, and the Captain, and every goddamned person who takes the time out of their day to tell me I’m better than what I am. It fucking hurts what a waste of time…” 

“Ah! Don’t put yourself down or I’ll tell you about my PTA meeting from last month. _ In detail _.” 

“…Sorry. It fucking hurts when people care.” 

“Talk to me about that, sis.” 

“I…” I work my jaw. “I _ feel like _ I don’t deserve it. Part ‘cause I’m an aug, part ‘cause it’s probably all in my head, part ‘cause I just...I don’t know. I don’t get it. People want to be around me, and it _ hurts _ when they care, and _ fuck _ , this never happened before Vega, before the aug thing, I don’t fucking _ understand _ !” I punch the ground in frustration. “Used to be, I was _ happy _ , at least most of the time, I had a job, I did it, and I could cope with killing when I had to. Didn’t like it, nobody _ likes _ it, really, unless they’ve been in the black too long, but you got a job to do, civilians at stake, yeah I’ve killed people, I snapped a Cardie’s neck like a goddamn twig to save civvies the time I met Eleana, and I know my kill count’s well over a hundred. But I could _ cope _ . I didn’t get...this apathetic _ bullshit _ , this fucking bullcrap nonsense shit where I don’t understand why people give a shit and it hurts to he helped, I swear to fucking god it hurts so goddamn much and I want to _ kill _ something!” I grab a nearby fallen branch and effortlessly snap it in half, then again and again, the wood crumbling into splinters in my hands. “I see Shaw every other night and when Eleana kisses me I want to stick my head in a plasma vent, it’s not fucking right and I’m too fucking chickenshit to tell the shrink!” 

“You need to,” Amy replies immediately. “I don’t care how scared you are, sis, you _ need _ to tell your therapist. That sounds like depression on top of post-traumatic stress. I don’t know if medication works on you anymore, but you need treatment _ now _. How long have you been seeing a therapist?” 

“Two weeks, daily sessions until we got here to Regulus. It’s been about three since…” I shudder. 

“Yeah, that’s not enough time to recover from anything, you goof.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders again and squeezes me tight, leaning her head into mine. “Hey. Rachel. You’re the toughest woman I know. You’re going to make it through this, and you’re going to do that because you’re a badass, you’re a freaking hero, and you deserve every kindness you’re given.” 

My jaw clenches so hard my dentures start to fray. “_ Fuck _ .” I’m not fucking broken. I can’t be fucking broken, it’s just the crazy aug brain or something, right? “I can’t… _ fuck _ !” I throw my bits of wood chips away. “Something’s fucked up about me. _ Really _ fucked up.” 

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Amy assures me. “We all have our challenges. Honestly in your case I think there’s some ways to deal with it that could be pretty effective, but I don’t want to be presumptive over your therapist.” 

“Just the ship’s shrink. Captain’s orders.” 

“How much leave time do you have? I’m sure that Starfleet Medical would authorize…” 

“_ No _ ,” I snarl. “I’m not a goddamn invalid. I’m a Delta-rated MACO who can punch straight through an Undine’s carapace and strangle an augmented Gorn, I’ve got so many medals I can barely fit them on my lapel and I’m not even _ thirty-five _yet, I’ll take medical leave when Hell freezes over and camels fly.” 

“Sis…” 

“I’m not doing it.” My fingers rip into the moss—it’s not really moss, some Regulan stuff with a similar look, apparently on the inside it’s more of a fungus—and I force myself to unclench my jaw before I destroy my dentures. “I’m going to get better. I’m going to get back to work, I’m going to do my job, and everything’s going to be fine. And if I ever see Ellen Shaw again, I’m going to beat the life out of her and throw her ass in the brig for someone else to deal with.” My hands are shaking. Why are my goddamn hands shaking? 

Amy’s hand rests on top of my right. “Rachel. It’s OK to need help.” 

“So I’ve been told.” I snarl, punching the ground. “I want to punch the living daylights out of Shaw. A lot of times.” 

“I understand. Will that help?” 

I shrug. “Can’t hurt.” I flex my fingers. “Worst case, I can do it enough to make the fear go dull.” 

Amy is silent for a few seconds, then sighs. “Just...talk to people, OK? Your therapist, Ms. Valen...don’t hide, alright? I’m worried about you.” 

I duck my head, my eyes wet. “Yeah. I figured.” My breath comes out in a huff. “I’m gonna get patched up. I can sleep through the night now, ‘long as I’m with Eleana. I’m gonna make it.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Amy pulls me close. “And, hey. If you need someone to talk to...don’t be a stranger, OK?” 

“OK,” I choke out, and melt into my sister’s hug. 

***

_ Kanril Eleya. USS _ Bajor _ conference room. Orbiting Regulus IV. _

“_ How can I help you, Captains _?” an older, brown-skinned Trill woman asks. 

“Admiral Idaris, it’s been a while,” I reply with a grin. “I still can’t thank you enough for getting that paperwork sorted for me freshman year.” 

“_ Ah, yes, the incident where EarthSec computers thought that you didn’t exist because the Militia’s space arm was disbanded. That was an odd one. I assume this isn’t merely a social call? _” 

“It’s not, I’m sorry.” Ocett shifts on my right as I lean forwards towards the viewscreen. “We need to know about a disciplinary incident involving Ellen Shaw.” 

Idaris stiffens, then lets out a breath. “_ Oh. Let me guess; she resurfaced _.” 

“She tortured and raped a Starfleet officer while working as muscle for Section 31. We’ve been assigned to get intel on her background while other officers do a conventional search. Any possible hideouts would be great, but even a proper psych profile will help.” 

“_ That’s going to be difficult. Her parents made sure there aren’t any of those lying around _ .” Idaris reaches to her side, programming a replicator for a glass of water. “ _ She was involved with a sexual assault allegation in 2397. She was 19. Came in out of a prep school, had a tendency towards arrogance, but she had skills and raw intelligence that made people overlook it. Anyway. There was a party, rugby team party, at an off-campus, private residence, and a cadet from one of the Bolian colonies who was there came in two weeks later, claimed that she got angry when he rejected her advances and pinned him to a bed while drunk, trying to tear his clothes off _.” 

Ocett frowns. “And she wasn’t punished? A false allegation?” 

Idaris winces. “_ No. The evidence was… inconclusive. His roommate said that he came in late, with torn clothes, looking beat up and not responding to questions, but he took a shower and only reported the incident two weeks afterwards, when his roommate got the same story. _” 

“Seems pretty sound to me,” I note. That’s classic victim behavior—they want to feel clean and in a murky situation like that they’re going to worry about being dragged through the mud. “The roommate’s corroboration ought to do it.” 

“_ Shaw claimed to remember nothing, and had a rugby teammate’s word that she went home early. I was going to proceed with the investigation, but… it was made clear to me by several friends of her family that her character was unquestionable. And, well, it was a busy semester, he said she said, I convinced the other cadet to drop the incident. _” 

“But?” 

She sighs. “_ After that incident where Shaw went rogue—nasty business, that—I looked back on the sexual assault charge and an incident where she was accused of attacking another cadet in an argument; again, she claimed the other woman hit her first, the other woman said that Shaw punched her after an argument over grades. Shaw’s parents had their friends pressure me there, too. I realized what had happened, and between that and the mess when I threatened to go public… _” 

“Wait, you did what?” 

“_ When I realized Shaw might be a serial predator with personality issues, I told Shaw’s parents. I wanted to give them a chance to confess before I handed it over to the press. They had their friends, important people in the diplomatic corps and planetary government, come to me again, told them that I’d been fabricating an issue where there was none; the best I could do was threaten to go to her father’s superiors, forced them to retire early to some colony estate. _” 

“So she’s used to Mommy and Daddy solving problems for her, then snapped when she got consequences. Like I figured.” I shake my head. “And that’s why you resigned.” 

“_ I let myself get pressured to let a dangerously unstable person through the Academy and into elite military training. I might’ve fought to keep my job if I hadn’t been partially to blame, but I decided to cut my losses and retire. Didn’t want to risk a mudslinging fight. _ ” 

“_ Phekk _ ,” I mutter. And of course she didn’t say anything to Intel because _ that _ would’ve made everybody’s job that much easier. “Great. Do you have any ideas where she might go to ground?” Long shot, but…

Idaris shakes her head. “_ Your colleagues might have more luck. _” 

“On the plus side, my security chief’s the best in the business, and he’s been collaborating with his counterparts on _ Sentinel _ and _ Mahpiya Luta _. If anyone can find Shaw, it’s an ex-detective with the resources of three starships.” 

“_ I hope so. Anything else I can help you with? _” 

“Not at the moment, but Internal Affairs might contact you later for a statement.” 

Idaris grimaces. “_ Got it. I’ll keep a line open. _” She hangs up. 

“So where do we go from here?” Ocett asks. 

“I’m out of ideas,” I admit, tapping my fingers on my arm as I think. “Unless…” I slap my desk. “I think I might know a guy.” 

I just hope that Supervising Agent Grell, possibly Section 31, remembers my name. I did pull a gun on his subordinate, after all. 

***

_ Rachel. Therapy session, Deck 6, USS _Bajor. 

“I notice that you are recorded as having requested that the Captain not pursue aggravated rape and crimes against sentient life charges against Shaw on your behalf,” Doc Shree says. “Are you able to tell me why, Rachel?” 

I clench at my uniform again; it’s already starting to tear. “Like I told the Captain. I’m not Human. I’m an augment. I…” My voice shakes. “I was in a bad spot. Shaw made everything about me that I hate hit the surface.” 

“Go on.” 

“I wanted to kill her. No. I wanted to _ hurt _ her. I wanted to do to her what she was doing to me. I wanted to hear her scream and taste her blood. And that… that _ scares the shit out of me _ .” I lick my lips, rocking back and forth. “It… it took me a while. I had to talk to other people who wanted to do the same thing. I was so afraid—so _ certain _ that was the augment. The programming coming out, right?” I lick my lips again. “I’ve been telling myself that I’m _ beating _ it. But… everyone else says the same things as me, wants to do the same things or worse, and _ they _ aren’t augs. So… _ is _ there aug programming?” 

“That’s not a question I can answer for you,” Shree replies. “Think it through.” 

I huff and cross my arms to keep from tearing my pants. “I mean, obviously I’m not the same person. I wouldn’t do the same things I did when I was younger again. But… I tried to bite Chief Ghorak, too. When I went through interrogation resistance. And I was Human then, bog-standard 180-centimeter Human on a 5,000-calorie high-protein diet to build up muscle.” 

“Go on,” Doc Shree encourages me. 

“I think… I think there might not _ be _ any aug programming,” I continue, my voice ducking down to a whisper. “I mean, I know that’s wrong to think, of _ course _ augs are dangerous when they’re uncontrolled, but… I’m still me. Mostly. I get _ really _ fucking hungry, and then I want to eat everything in sight, but that’s more just my body reacting to having to regrow limbs or whatever, right? My head, that’s still me, maybe a little banged up but _ me _. Tell me if I’m crazy, Doc?” 

“You’re not,” the Andorian replies. “I think that you’re right.” 

My breath comes out in a whoosh as _ something _ washes over me—relief? I feel like I just got pulled out of a furball and it’s settling in. The doc smiles warmly and continues. 

“Your psych profiles all fall easily within Human norms. You’re sane, Lieutenant, and you’re still a Human mentally. Doctor Wirrpanda is of the opinion that the majority of the genetic alterations affected your physical abilities first and foremost, with only minor alterations to your brain.” 

“You’re sure?” I don’t quite know what to say. My vision’s blurry as I ask again, “I’m still me?” 

“Yes, Lieutenant. You’re still you.” 

I can feel the tears on my cheeks and I blink rapidly, trying to clear my eyes. “I… oh… holy shit… I mean… I can’t…” I slump on the couch. “Doc, I…” I shake my head. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Well, the first step is admitting that you have a problem.” The smile’s back, but she wants me to say something. But if I’m still Human in the head, I… _ oh _. 

“I hate myself,” I realize. It sounds stupid when I put it that way, but I’ve found myself repulsed by my own body, my own fucking augmented _ self _ , too many times for anything else. “I hate augs so goddamn much I hate… _ fuck _.” I hear a tearing sound as my hands clench the couch fabric too hard. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I should’ve…” 

“I replicated that chair after your last appointment, I can replicate another one after this,” the doc assures me with a smile.

“Even when I thought I had a breakthrough,” I spit. “It was just _ me controlling _ the aug shit. But that isn’t it, is it? It’s just _ me _ . There’s nothing _ to _ control.” 

“Correct,” the doc assures me. “That leads to a self-reinforcing narrative. You’ve told yourself that you’re a danger to others for so long that you’ve started to believe it. And Section 31 leveraged that to hurt you.” 

My legs are _ vibrating _ as I smooth out my pants, trying to calm my nerves. “It’s not my fault. It’s not my _ fucking _ fault.” I suck in a breath, feeling something—exhaustion, relief, something? “I’m not weak, OK?” Shaw called me an animal. That’s how she got in my head. I’ve told myself I’m the animal, I’ve _ made _ myself the uncontrolled aug, and Shaw dehumanized me until I caved. 

“You helped save the entire Federation, Lieutenant. You’re not weak. You got hurt, strong people get hurt all the time.” 

I clench my fists. “I’m not weak,” I repeat. “But I _ think _ I am. No, that’s not it. I’m _ afraid _ I am. Afraid to slip. Afraid to fuck up. Afraid to feel like this.” My fingernails dig deep enough into my skin to draw blood, and I curse. “I need to strap my fucking stones in and beat that fear.” 

“You feel as if you need to _ prove _ to yourself that you’re strong,” Doc Shree notes. 

“Yeah.” I snarl, gripping my knees so hard it hurts. “I need to find Ellen Shaw and beat the shit out of her until I’m not afraid anymore.” 

“Lieutenant, that may not be…” 

“Trust me, Doc.” I stand, pacing back and forth. “That bitch _ raped _ me.” It feels almost liberating to say it like this. I’m a _ person _ . Shaw committed a crime when she violated me. “She tortured me until I was barely even a person anymore and raped me with a knife. She made me _ fear _ her. Best way to break down fear of the enemy is victory. When you see them hurt you don’t fear them. When you see them die you know you can beat ‘em. Morale, you know, big factor in war.” 

“I understand, Lieutenant, but you might cause yourself additional stress…” 

“I’m tough,” I tell myself as much as her. “I can take it. I just need to find Shaw and beat her until I hear her squeal. And then I’ll know that I’m strong.” I’ll know that I’m still _ me _ , on the inside. I’ll _ feel _ it. That I’m not an animal. That I can beat the shit out of Ellen Shaw, and take her alive, that I’m a person and not an attack dog. 

I need it, and I need it _ bad _. 

***

_ Eleya. USS _ Bajor _ conference room _. 

“_ Captain Kanril! This is a surprise, _ ” the Ferengi on the vidscreen says. “ _ I haven’t seen you in, well, must be nearly two years now _.” 

“Supervising Agent Grell.” I use his title, despite his choice of employers. “How’s the import-export business?” 

“_ Well, you put the CEO in Facility 4028 and the board is divided on where to go from here, _ ” Grell replies. “ _ Your friend _?” 

“Captain Samara Ocett, USS _ Sentinel _,” the Cardassian says. 

“She’s working with me on the matter I’m calling you about. Little job for Intel. I’m calling in that favor you owe me for helping clean up that incident with the Orion Syndicate out in Zeta Andromedae.” 

“_ I’m not sure how I can help you, Captain. _” 

“It’s still a secure line,” I promise. “I had my end add a little extra encryption just in case, and zh’Zoarhi won’t hear a word of this unless I choose to tell her.” 

“_ I trust your judgement, Captain, but I’m not as familiar with your friend _.” 

“Much as I find your organization distasteful, I am willing to… overlook your choice of friends if you have valuable intel, Grell,” Ocett says. “This time.” 

I shrug. “She seems like good people to me.” 

Grell nods once. “_ Very well. What do you need? _” 

I lean in. “Ellen Shaw. Where is she?” 

Grell licks his lips nervously. “_ You like living dangerously, don’t you _?” 

“Comes with the combadge.” 

“_ Why do you want her _?” 

“She was part of a Section 31 cell, led by a little creep called Antonio Lopez, that kidnapped one of my officers, Lieutenant Rachel Connor, several weeks ago. Shaw tortured and raped Connor on Lopez’s orders, my people crashed their party, Shaw got away. She’s still at large. Zh’Zoarhi wants her alive.” I glare at him. “More importantly, _ I _want her ass in my brig.” 

“_ You couldn’t have asked for an easy favor, like Occupation-vintage kanar to bribe an ambassador? _ ” Grell shakes his head. “ _ I don’t know much, I’m lending a little aid to Cardassian militias fighting those Third Empire fanatics, Shaw’s usually deployed on the Romulan and Klingon frontiers. But… I can tell you where she’s _ going _ to be. _” 

“How?” 

Grell raises an eyebrow at me. “_ In my line of work, it pays to keep tabs on my colleagues. I’ve been monitoring internal traffic, and I’m fairly confident that I know what’s coming. Ambassador Kavar-Hon is mediating four-way trade talks on Europa Nova in three days. The Klingons are sending Councillor Ba’Wov, the Romulans _ Deihu _ t’Hei for the Republic and _ Deihu _ t’Selok for the Empire. _ ” Prophets, all three of those dignitaries have ties to the leadership—Ba’Wov’s House was a key supporter of Worf in the lead-up to the coup against Chancellor J’mpok during the war, t’Selok’s in _ deep _ with Praetor Velal, and t’Hei’s one of the most senior women in the Romulan Republic’s government. “ _ Shaw’s going to kill them all while in disguise as a Romulan, the goal being to raise tensions between the Romulan states and the major powers and leaving the trade deal dead in the water. It’ll strangle the Empire’s economy and leave the Republic without a definite contract to rebuild its naval industry for years. _” 

“_ Phekk _,” I curse. “Thanks for the intel. I’ll keep you anonymous, don’t worry.” 

“_ Thank you, Captain. Good luck. You’ll need it _.” 

“I’ve got luck, she’s called the USS _ Bajor _.” I pause before I close the link. “Hey. Grell. You could do great work for Intel, if you wanted. Have you ever considered…” 

“_ Tying my hands? No, Captain, I do better work this way. As much as I know my colleagues are… disliked, we _ have _ made vast strides for the Federation _.” 

“Don’t give me that ‘we won the Dominion War’ crap, the Founders proved at Cardassia that they would’ve gone into a genocidal tantrum if Odo hadn’t cured them.” 

Grell frowns. “_ I thought you knew me better than that. Operating independently of federal oversight and bureaucracy means that we can do things that you can’t or won’t. Things that can be vital to the safety and stability of the Federation, like funnelling arms to the Bak’Rikan guerrillas when the proposal to help them’s still held up in committee. _” 

“It’s a poisoned tree, Grell. It’s been rotting from within from long before Luther Sloan thought that stooping to genocide was the best way to win the Dominion War.” 

“_ We will have to agree to disagree on that. Much as the current leadership’s actions, in my opinion at least, go too far, I think that the plausible deniability that this organization represents is simply too great of an opportunity to pass up _.” 

“Opportunity plus instinct equals profit, huh?” 

Grell gives me a toothy grin. “_ Indeed. Profit for the Federation, anyway. And, next time, Captain? Please don’t threaten to shoot my undercover contact. Petty Officer Theel had a twitch when she heard your name for two months after the last time we worked together _.” He hangs up. 

I stand immediately, straightening my jacket, and turn my head to Ocett. “Do you have an attached MACO unit?” 

Ocett shakes her head. “We’ve been on relief and patrol duty, and MACO commando units got hit badly in the war, courtesy of being front-line more than most. Not enough for every ship yet.” After the success of commando teams in the Iconian War, Command’s decided to have every combat-duty ship get a dedicated MACO team, but recruiting and training elite troops like that takes time. “Captain—Do you believe him?” 

“Grell? He’s trustworthy. He proved that much in the Orion incident in Zeta Andromedae.” 

“I mean about Section 31.” 

I pause, my hand on the door lock panel. “He believes it. But… you know, some rules, they’re there for a reason. We’re sworn to the Articles of the Federation, and the laws that say we’re accountable to the government and the people who elected it, those are _ important _.” I brush a thumb over my pips instinctively. “Like I told him. Poisoned tree. It’s a wraith’s gift, not having accountability, makes you think you’re the only one who knows what’s right, who can make decisions. Section 31… they were always going to go bad. 

“Besides, those sons of wraiths took one of the finest officers I know and turned her into a living weapon, then raped her when she wouldn’t take their orders. To the Fire Caves with them.” 

Ocett nods, her face unreadable. “Fair enough, Captain.” 

I unlock the door. “C’mon. Let’s go catch a traitor.” 

***

_ Eleya. USS _ Bajor _ conference room. _

“We have a lead on Ellen Shaw,” I announce. Out of my senior staff, only Lieutenant Connor isn’t here—Doctor Shree hasn’t cleared her for combat yet, so I’ve got her second, Lamont, in here instead. “She’s going to be hitting a diplomatic conference within 24 hours, and Admiral zh’Zoarhi wants us there to take her in and foil her plan. We’re taking this _ phekk’ta _ rapist bitch alive, but nobody said we couldn’t fry whatever’s left of her nervous system first.” 

Tess, Lamont, and Gantumur grin viciously at that. Dul’krah remains impassive as usual, but I think I can see satisfaction in the way his lips tighten. I pull up a holoprojection of the embassy on the table’s central projector. 

“We’re going in short notice and loaded for bear—our biggest risk here is spooking Shaw. Lieutenant Korekh, Lieutenant Gantumur, suggestions?” 

“Additional guards armed with small arms in the conference chamber,” Dul’krah says, pointing at spots on the hologram. “Here, here, and here. Two teams, eight men each, ready to deploy along each of the likely escape routes. I have examined the embassy’s blueprints, and believe that the most effective route would be _ this _ way.” 

“Shuttle in the main bay disguised as civvies, ready to evac with Shaw at a moment’s notice,” Gantumur confirmed. “Probably tapped into the local systems—I’ll bet twenty credits that they’ll have transporter dampeners up independent of the embassy’s own. I also want Unit 131 deployed _ here _ with a patrol route along this section of the likeliest escape route to provide the closest thing we have to a hard counter for Shaw.” 

“Tall order without the Lieutenant,” Lamont growls. “We’re good, but Shaw was the _ best _ before she was turned into a supersoldier. Add to that, we don’t know all the augments she has or what she can do--we know electric shocks can stun her for a moment, but she recovers fast and she probably has subdermal armor.” 

“How do you rate your chances in a delaying action?” Tess asks. 

Lamont grimaces. “We can hold her, but I don’t know for how long, and it’ll hurt. She’s more nimble than we are in powered armor, and without power armor we’re sitting ducks. If we get the element of surprise we have a good shot, assuming we have decent intel on her implants, if not...” 

Bad things. We all fill it in. “OK, how about Lieutenant Connor? Does Doctor Shree have any idea of when she’ll be…” Doctor Wirrpanda’s already shaking his head. 

“She’s still showing acute PTSD symptoms. Sleep issues, unstable mood, she was even having panic attacks planetside according to Ensign Valen.” My CMO grimaces. “Doctor Shree can’t give me a hard timetable, either, which is to be expected given the Lieutenant’s recent trauma and longer-term mental-health issues.” 

“Nowhere close to ready,” Gantumur summarizes. “She goes down there, Shaw’ll get in her head easily. Shaw’s MACO-Delta rated, she was working on Section 31 psy-ops, it’s too much of a risk by any standard.” 

“So our best combatant on the ground is a no-go.” Tess taps the table with her fingers. “We’ll need numbers and firepower.” 

“We will need teams in position to cover the likely escape routes,” Dul’krah rumbles. “We should contact the _ Sentinel _ and borrow some of their security detail while they are undergoing repairs.” 

“Good idea.” I lean in over the model, thinking. “We can also try luring Shaw into the conference room?” 

“Dangerous,” Dul’krah and Gantumur say simultaneously. He continues. “If we have sufficient presence on the inside, it is theoretically possible assuming a conservative estimate of Shaw’s capabilities, but that will make maintaining a low profile difficult.” 

“Better to screen people as they arrive,” Gantumur agrees. “Have people on standby and in the area ready to move.” 

“Then we go with that. Aly, if it was you running this op, would you be on-planet already?” She ran a MACO unit on the Klingon border during the war. There’s a classified-as-_ phekk _ section of her file that coincides with the sudden death of one of the leaders of B’Vat’s war faction on Qo’noS after the Planet Killer incident.

Gantumur looks puzzled. “I would, but why do you ask?”

“Because I’m trying to decide if it would blow our cover to have my baby in orbit.”

“Oh. Damn, uh—No, I’d be checking the traffic control feeds, they’re public record.”

“Damn it, you’re right. All right, we’ll hide the ship in the ring system of planet six and put, uh—Mox, Makal, tell me your covers again?”

“‘Detached duty’, seconded to the sector fleet,” the Bolian supplies.

“Okay, put _ Luta _ and _ Hanoi _ in orbit, maybe we can catch her if she rabbits again. Make it happen, people--and remember, we get Shaw _ alive _, and with her brain intact.” I straighten, and my people shift as they go to rise. “I’ll update Intel and get the extra personnel. Good luck.” 

We’re going to need it. 

***

_ Ellen Shaw. Federation diplomatic facilities, Europa Nova planetary surface _. 

The mission goes south almost immediately. 

I walk into the conference room, my fake ears sticking out of my wig, and there’s twice as much security as I was briefed on. Fine, I can _ deal _ with regular security, but still, normally intel’s more solid. 

The plan’s simple. Disguise myself as a Romulan, shoot the Klingon and Federation ambassadors, then bail. Both Rommie factions blame each other, the Klingons blame them both, we clean up the mess and cut the Rommies’ feet out from under them before they can get their fleets back together and think about challenging us again. The Deputy Director thinks we might even be able to outright annex part of the Republic by calling it “protection” and manipulating the Unificationists, which would mean plenty of separatist scum for me to liquidate but also a bunch of decently-industrialized planets in a strategic region to drive a wedge right into the region the Klingons used to press claims on. And with the Klingons as fucked up as they are post-war, well, if I assassinate the new Chancellor and a few senior nobles, another civil war from those retarded barbarian shitwits is only a matter of time. 

I don’t usually like killing our own—pussy or not, Kavar-Hon’s a loyal Federation citizen from all I’ve seen—but it is what it is. Sometimes you gotta do dirty things for your country. 

But now the fucking security’s been changed up; instead of the token guys at the door, they’re putting everybody in a cordoned-off line and scanning everybody as they go through. How the Hell did they do this so fast? 

“What is this?” a Rommie diplo demands ahead of me. “I am not some common criminal to be searched in public…” 

“Our apologies, sir, but everybody’s got to get scanned, including us,” one of the guards says apologetically. “There was a threat of an attack…” 

“How _ dare _ you…” I don’t stick around for more, instead muttering a halfway apology to the shitwit behind me. I chance a look back…

_ Fuck _. One of the guards is pointing at me, and some big horned alien guy is following the finger. 

Time to leave. I break into a sprint, my kickass cyber-legs propelling me faster than any baseline could ever move. Even Subject 87 probably couldn’t match me at a run. The first door barely hisses open as I sprint through it, and behind me security guys shout and call for backup as the diplos yell in surprise. _ Fuck this noise _. Another mission fucked up the asshole because the goddamn intel was off. Sometimes, I gotta wonder if the super-complicated, precise-deadline plans for these missions and the exfils aren’t too damn close and overcomplicated for our own good. 

I’m leaving the Security guys behind a dozen doors and seemingly-random turns as I ditch the wig and the ears, but I know it’s only a matter of time before I run into more trouble. Those jarheads who work under the aug-freak should be close; I tune my sensors to higher sensitivity as I head for the shuttlebay, tapping my servos to move just above the Human baseline. Good timing by me; I get a ping through the next door—four shapes on my onboard penetrating scans, looks like power armor. Well, time to do this the fun way. 

I activate my personal cloak, then jump up to the wall, kicking off a desk and securing myself precariously on the ceiling between two artistically exposed crossbeams. The door slides open below me, and Subject 87’s team comes out. Four men—maybe the marksman girl they had at the facility was a placeholder? That big guy with the heavy weapon, the scrawny little sniper, the field tech, and the leader with the pulsewave gun and the new-model SHARUR hardsuit. Right, how to handle these chumps…

My personal cloak has limited duration—not even the Voth can make that crap work properly for longer than a few minutes—and it fails just as they start to walk under me. Heavy stops and starts to say something… 

Leader looks up just as I drop, and has the presence of mind to shout and duck back at the same time, so instead of breaking his helmet and possibly his spine I land hard on and a couple inches _ into _ the floor. Sonofabitch. 

“_ It’s Shaw! Light her up! _” Leader tries to duck back, but I jab my knife into one of his armor joints and hook him off of his feet, flipping myself off my own feet to land with him as Heavy lays down fire with his SAW. No sign of the girl sniper or Subject 87, just the one little guy and the tech backing these two up. I can do this. 

Leader has his sidearm out, but I grab it, the beam going wide, flick it to overload (breaking the flimsy safety switch that Yoyodyne should really modify already as I do so) and snarl as I tap my servos past recommended limits, forcing Leader’s arm down, his own attempt to aim at me helping, then cram the phaser’s emission tube into the neck joint of his suit. He lets go of it, trying to grab my head with both hands, and I pull back, flipping backwards as Sniper zaps right past my left ear with a pinpoint accurate shot that I barely dodge, Leader going to rise but then swearing as he hears the rising tone of the overloading phaser. 

“_ She set my phaser to blow, get back! _” Leader rolls over, and I spring over him like a gazelle, Heavy repositioning his SAW as Tech fires up a shield generator, sniper drawing a bead on my chest… 

I lean backwards like a ballerina, dropping to my knees in a slide that tears holy hell out of my knee skin as Leader’s suit tanks the blast, then crackles with discharged electricity. Heavy and Sniper soak where my head was, Heavy trying to re-angle the SAW as I duck sideways, but I’m close, too close, and I kick off of the weapon to come down heel-first on Tech’s shield generator, punching right through it. 

“_ We need backup! _ ” Sniper screams, probably calling their ship. “ _ Shaw’s too close! _” 

I go for him, but a heavy stun blast hits me in the side and carries me clean off my feet and into Heavy, who grabs me in a bear hug; my body shakes for a couple seconds, but then my shielded systems kick back up, and I headbutt Heavy, forcing my way out of his grasp and narrowly dodging Tech’s follow-up as Sniper backpedals. Sniper’s next shot is pinpoint accurate, hitting me in the side of the skull as Tech curses, but these guys are all using heavy stun; I land in an ungainly heap, but I’m active in half a second as my cyborg systems take over from my beleaguered remaining nerves. My shields are down—a clip-on can barely take light stun, you need a suit to power a proper one, maybe I should get an implant for that—but I’m far from the same. 

I fucking _ love _ being half-robot. The metal took some getting used to, but it’s so much _ better _ than the pathetic meat I was born with. And now, I’m basically fucking invincible, like I needed to be more badass than I already was. 

Heavy’s getting up, his helmet cracked, Sniper drawing another bead on me as I power into Tech, but it’s too late; I throw my body weight into Tech’s leg, shattering the knee and the suit’s motorization, then rip the gun out of his hands and punch it straight through his visor, knocking him flat. 

Heavy’s gun fires, and I throw myself flat on top of Tech, Sniper’s shot slamming into my shoulder. I tap my leg pistons and power forwards off of the fallen tech, no time to snap his neck properly, and lunge for Sniper, ducking low and hooking one of his arms as I pass before I crush the motorization with my elbow and yank his arm into a pin, Sniper screaming in pain as his gun clatters to the floor. His other arm reaches for me, but I grab it, tapping my finger pistons as he struggles in my grip. Heavy drops the SAW and goes for his grenade belt, and Sniper rears up, his boots crashing into my knees and making joint stress warnings flash across my HUD. My eye implants drop an X-ray reticle over the targeting grid, and I jerk Sniper’s arms up as Heavy lobs a grenade over my head, shattering Sniper’s wrists and elbows. 

I drop Sniper as he howls in pain, and lunge for the charging Heavy, but his concussion grenade takes me off my feet, my face meeting his giant fist. Heavy’s _ huge _ , nearly two meters and built like an ox, and with motorization his punch is enough to knock me back, sending me crashing to the deck. Behind him, Leader’s trying to get his feet. I need to finish this, _ fast _. 

Sniper and Tech are down, the former for a couple days and the latter for a week at least, but my clothes are a mess and my skin’s charred from weapons fire and Heavy’s grenade. I’ve got nothing but the starter chip to my getaway shuttle and my implants. I sneer as I kick myself up, ramming my shoulder into the charging Heavy’s side hard enough to crack his armor and send more blaring warnings over my HUD. Apparently my shoulder servos didn’t like that. Either way, I’m still better than these chumps. I’m the _ best _. I’m Ellen fucking Shaw. 

Leader has his sidearm out and a Kill shot slams into my chest, sending me spinning. I keep my balance, barely, the subdermal nanomesh I had implanted over my pecs taking the shot, but the heat still does serious damage to my muscle, tits, and the cybernetic enhancement. Too bad for Leader; I sprint for him, drop to my knees and slide under his next shot with blinding speed, then backflip perfectly to slam my heel into his helmet, earning myself another warning light and the satisfying crunch of visor as Leader’s helmet shatters and my heel concusses him. He goes down like a tree. 

Heavy has his SAW again and pulls the trigger as I turn. I’m lifted clear off the ground and collapse in a heap, my nanomesh charred and a damage diagram popping up just off of my line of sight to show me which organs just got cooked. The big guy brings the gun around, but I roll aside, shutting off my pain sensation with a snarl of frustration and getting my legs under me for the leap. Heavy tries to reposition the gun, but the problem with those two-handed miniguns is that they’re still heavy as Hell. I hit him head-on, punching his torso to fracture his ribs and brushing his gun aside contemptuously before I rip his helmet and gorget plate off. 

“You are one _ dead _ guy,” I snarl. 

He spits in my face, grabbing at my shoulders. “_ Que te folle un pez, puta _.” My universal translator helpfully informs me that he just told me to get fucked by a fish, and that I’m a bitch. 

I throw him to the ground and slam down to kneel on his chest, ripping at the motorization in his arms with my finger pistons tapping near max. “Good try there, buddy,” I chuckle. “But I’m better than you. Better than that aug-freak, too, as I’ve just proved.” My shields are back up, finally; I really wish my clip-on shield had a lower recharge time. 

“Eat shit and die,” Heavy spits. 

I stand with another laugh. “Not gonna do the former, and you’re the one who’s going to do the latter.” I raise my leg to crush his skull with one foot…

Then a phaser fuzzes off of my personal shield, and I get an early birthday present. 

***

_ Rachel _. 

“Send me down there!” I snap, slotting a fresh power cell into my phaser rifle and buzzing it up to heavy stun. “My squad needs me.” 

“Sir, I’m not authorized to…” The transporter tech’s a Bajoran kid who’s not even 20 years old if I’m a day. Fuck, they keep sending kids barely out of secondary school out here, the Iconians really did a number on us. 

“God damn it to hell, I _ need _ to get down there!” I shout. “I helped save the fucking Federation, and you won’t do me one motherfucking favor to save my squad?” 

“Sir, you’re not even wearing body armor…” 

“No time. I gotta get down there _ yesterday _.” 

“Sir, I can’t…” 

“_ Fuck! _ ” I nearly point the gun at the transporter tech. Nearly. “Kid, just send me down, _ please _. Lives depend on it.” 

He swallows nervously, but nods. “Oh Prophets, I’m going to get in _ so _ much trouble for this…” 

“I’ll take the fall, now come _ on _!” From my earpiece, I hear Shaw taking my men apart, Kallio screaming for backup. 

He hits the button. I materialize in a storeroom and sprint for the door; the Captain’s team’s sweeping in from the other side, outside of the covert transporter dampeners Shaw put up outside the shuttlebay, and they’re going to get there in minutes tops, but I can move faster. I kick the door off its tracks and sprint for the last point my boys were at, hearing Kallio scream in agony as someone from the ship realizes that I’m down here and demands to know my location and status. 

I shoulder through another door and sprint down a tastefully bland hallway. Shuttlebay’s close, _ I’m _ close. I just need to…

Turn down a hallway, door hissing open just before I hit it, and there she is. 

Lamont’s down, Kallio’s whimpering on the floor, K’tar’s a crumpled heap in damaged armor, his leg at a weird angle. Shaw’s got Luiz on the ground, pinning him under her knee while she rips the motorization out of his armor. “Good try there, buddy,” she chuckles. “But I’m better than you. Better than that aug-freak, too, as I’ve just proved.” 

“Eat shit and die,” Luiz snarls. Shaw stands, chuckling. 

“Not gonna do the former, and you’re the one who’s gonna do the latter.” 

I give the bitch a warning shot before I buzz my phaser up to Kill; the stun blast fuzzes on Shaw’s shields, but at least it gets her attention. “Hey, Shaw! Get the Hell away from my men, you dirty traitor whore!” It sounds good. Not even a shake to it. I’m doing pretty good, I think. 

“_ Seriously _?” Shaw chuckles, stepping on Luiz’s gorget and slowly pressing down, the plate starting to buckle under the stress. “Heel, augment. You don’t have the stones to pull that trigger. If you come with me quietly I won’t beat you too hard.” Her flaming-red hair bounces like something out of a shampoo commercial over her shoulders, her plump lips curled in a sneer. She’s had the shit kicked out of her and still looks gorgeous. 

“T… try me,” I snarl, but my hands are shaking and I know Shaw can see it. “You’re gonna spend the rest of your life in a padded cell.” 

Shaw tuts, shaking her head. “Aug-swine, you shouldn’t have said that! Now I have to beat your ass ‘til you learn how to take orders!” 

I pull the trigger, but Shaw’s already moving. My shot goes wide, my hands shaking and breathing off, and I stumble, losing my balance as I backpedal; Shaw rams her shoulder into my chest, my breath leaving me in a _ whoosh _, and slaps my rifle aside. “Heel!” she snaps again, and I cry out in a mix of hate and fear, trying to regain my footing...

Shaw’s fist plows into my side, crushing a rib, and I scream in pain, stumbling sideways into the wall. The cyborg kicks me in the gut, sending me flying backwards with something bursting agonizingly inside of me. I want to hide, I want to run and hide and just curl up...

“Don’t fucking insult me like this,” Shaw snarls. “_ This _ is the best MACO has to offer these days? A stupid aug-rat modded so far you aren’t even human anymore, and I’m still kicking your ass. Dumb bitch.” 

“You were a shit officer and you’re j-just as shit now,” I shoot back, my voice wavering as I pick myself up. I try to get into a fighting stance, but my hands are still shaking as I try to raise them, and Shaw snorts contemptuously as she slips under my guard, parries my haymaker aside and then rams a fist into my jaw. I hear a _ snap _ as I’m thrown backwards, flat on my ass with my vision blurring in and out. 

“You’ve got fucking nerve, dog,” Shaw chuckles as her foot rams into my ribs, once, twice, three times, and I scream until my breath is gone, my ribcage a shattered ruin but my lungs still somehow semi-functional. “I’m better than you any day, you little shit,” she hisses, crouching down to grab me by the throat and lift me clear off the ground one-handed. “Look at you, fucking animal, sniveling like the dog you are. I _ own _ you. Now _ heel! _” 

I cough up blood, whimper in pain, and try to say something defiant, but what comes out is a wordless burbling sob. Shaw grabs my arm as I try to hit her and _ twists _, and I scream again as my elbow and ulna splinter. 

“Un-fucking-believable,” the supersoldier complains as she punches into my gut straight-handed, tearing uniform and flesh. I can only manage a horrible wet cough, my eyes wide. “I swear to fucking Christ, the _ most _ unreliable weapon I’ve _ ever _ had to deal with. ‘Least you’re pretty when you’re scared.” I shake my head weakly, and her face twists into a cruel grin. “Ooh, I think I found my way into you— _ into _ you, heh. You don’t like this, huh?” She grabs my crotch, and I grip at her face with my good arm, but she rams me into a wall again, deftly switches the hand grabbing my throat, and pulls her knife, then slices through the tendons in my shoulder and elbow. I manage a thin, high-pitched shriek, then a whimper as she stabs right through my pants and underwear. I’m whiting out with the pain, my body adapting but it’s not going to be fast enough to stop Shaw from tearing me to shreds. 

“I _ own _ your ass, bitch,” Shaw hisses in my ear. “I fucking _ broke _ you. You’re _ mine _ now, and when the Director’s people are done reprogramming you we’re going to kill every enemy of the Federation Section 31 decides needs killing, and you’ll follow my orders when you do it.” 

“Kill… you…” I gasp out. “Hate...you…” 

She rams the knife into me again. “Ah-ah! Who’s got the fucking power here, you halfassed excuse for an attack dog?” 

“I… I won’t… I won’t be your _ pet _!” My voice wavers, though, as I feel phantom remnants of the beatings, Shaw’s fists breaking my ribs, her knives on my skin...

Shaw chuckles, and her smile is the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Oh, you _ will _. You very much…GAH!” 

The cyborg’s left leg crumples, and she stumbles back, dropping me. There’s a knife, a MACO-issue combat and survival knife, sticking out the back of her knee. I collapse to the ground, the images coming unbidden; Shaw hitting me with the whip, the shock prod, the spike, holding my face and calling me _ good girl _, stripping me naked and going at me with her knives...

“_ Vete al Diablo, puta _!” Luiz snarls, his armor still sparking from the damage. Shaw curses angrily, yanking the knife out, but her knee gives out, the robotic joint failing, and she falls to said knee, swearing again. 

“You just earned yourself a one-way ticket to Hell, you son of a bitch!” 

Then the wall behind her, perpendicular to the one I’m slumped by, explodes, knocking Shaw clear off her feet and showering me with debris. 

“Soak the room!” thunders the Captain, and Shaw shouts with surprise and fear as a hail of phaser fire tears into her shields. 

“Maintain fire! Don’t let her recover!” I hear Aly Gantumur call out, and Shaw ducks low, her shields failing as she scuttles for the door on her hands and one leg. 

“This isn’t over, Rachel!” she screams. “You can’t escape me forever!” 

“TAKE HER DOWN!” the Captain roars, armored Security people moving in with guns ready, but Shaw’s implants make her faster than a boosted Caitian on speed, and she’s sliding out the door before the dust’s even fully cleared. 

“Gantumur, take ten and go after Shaw!” the Captain snaps as she steps over part of the remains of the wall. “It looked like her leg was damaged, she’ll be slowed down. Lieutenant, are you alright?” 

“Shaw… she… she fucking… she…” 

“_ Phekk _. Petty Officer, what happened?” 

“She hit us like a hurricane,” Luiz growls, Commander Reshek helping him to his feet as Gantumur and half her assault unit sprint after Shaw. “Lamont’s out cold and his armor’s burned to a crisp, K’tar’s leg is a pulverized mess, and she broke Kallio’s armor joints then snapped his arms. The Lieutenant beamed in, tried to stop her, but Shaw triggered her pretty easily and…” 

“She _ beat _ me,” I hear myself say. “She _ won _ .” My vision’s gone blurry again, and I feel my bones already starting to expand, to _ twist _ back into a proper shape as I grow armor under my skin. “I… oh, _ fuck _ …” I moan in agony again as something _ pops _ inside me. 

The Captain kneels next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get you patched up, and then we’re going to throw Shaw where she’ll never see a sun again. Petty Officer, do you need a medic?” 

“Not urgently, ma’am. Please don’t worry about me.” 

She nods once, then jerks her head at Reshek. “Gaarra, give him a once-over just in case. Kanril to _ Bajor _, two to transport directly to Sickbay, more to follow. Prep for Lieutenant Connor, she’s adapting right now.” 

***

_ Sickbay, USS _ Bajor _ . Several hours later _. 

The Captain looks pissed as she buzzes up the security field. 

“You went down there without being cleared for combat?” 

“Ma’am, my men were in danger…” 

“_ You _ were in danger! That _ phekk’ta _ psychopath beat the tar out of you and your entire squad, you went in without your armor and without backup!” She’s steaming mad, and I shrink into my bloody biobed, chitin plates sliding against each other as I flinch. “ _ Phekk _ ! You weren’t cleared for combat, you _ flagrantly _ broke Starfleet protocol, about the only thing you _ didn’t _ do was threaten the transporter tech. You _ knew _ that was a terrible idea, so how about you tell me why in the Emissary's name you went ahead and took that monster on anyway?” 

“I thought I could take her, ma’am, I made a breakthrough in therapy…” 

“And your girlfriend still reports that you’re having night terrors almost every time you sleep, Petty Officer Luiz tells me that you visibly flinched as Shaw went for you, and down on that planet the single most lethal soldier I know got her ass handed to her by a Section 31 hit woman with a few replacement parts.” She pokes me in the chest, where my bloody chitin forms several larger plates, the swell of my breasts under my torn uniform lumpy and angular thanks to the overlapping scutes. “You. Are. Not. Ready. You _ were _ not ready and you aren’t stupid enough to honestly tell me that you were.” 

I look away. “I had to do _ something _, ma’am.” 

“I had 20 men in power armor a minute away. We blow the wall, lay down covering fire, walk back as we bring up heavier weapons to drive her off or neutralize her.” 

“If I hadn’t beamed down, Luiz would be _ fucking dead _!” I shout. “She was about to strangle him when I got to her, my whole team got taken down after she got the drop on them!” 

She grimaces, but sets her jaw. “I know it hurts to lose people, Lieutenant, but Petty Officer Luiz knows the risks.” 

“My emotional state isn’t worth a good man’s life. Ma’am.” 

She jabs me in the chest again. “You’re a senior-grade lieutenant whose personal file is eyes-only to Medical and my command staff. You could’ve gone to Tess and had another team sent down.” 

“Another team wouldn’t have been fast enough, and with less than maybe 15, 20 people Shaw would’ve killed them.” 

“Power armor would’ve evened the odds. Your men nearly took Shaw down as it is, what helmet cam footage we have shows her ambushing them and incapacitating Lamont almost immediately, then getting inside the range of your designated marksman and keeping them all off-balance. If one of them had recovered just a bit faster she would be in the Brig right now. Not to mention, I _ had _ a ten-man support team of Security regulars in light hardsuits ready to go.” 

“Light hardsuits versus a combat cyborg, and they aren’t trained in power armor use, ma’am…” 

“It doesn’t take _ that _ much training, And you’re missing my point, Lieutenant. You had other options. You’re _ smarter _ than this. And _ you were not cleared for combat _.” She crosses her arms. “So. Why?” 

“Because my emotional state isn’t worth more lives, ma’am.” I look at my feet in shame. “Goddamn it, I knew it was stupid. But I have to face her—I _ have _ to. She got inside of me and fucked me up, she’s got _ power _ over me, she’s still in my goddamn head, and I need to get her _ out _. And…” I bite my lip, then realize it’s currently a bloody mess. “Ow. Ma’am, you know I wasn’t the first person they tried to do this too, right?” 

“Yeah, I think Franklin Drake mentioned other experiments.” 

“Yeah. They called me Subject 87 for a reason.” She sucks in a breath. “Yeah, that’s how I reacted when I thought it through, ma’am. And given that I haven’t seen any other genetic abominations running around with Yoyodyne Systems’ copyright in code in their genome, I think it’s pretty safe to say that whatever happened to the first 86 people wasn’t pleasant.” 

She pulls up a chair and sits down at the foot of the biobed. “It got to you, huh?” 

“I really, _ really _ don’t want more good people to get killed for me, ma’am. They don’t deserve that. _ I _ don’t deserve that.” I shake my head. “They murdered 86 people to make me, bought slaves from the Ferengi and took people who’d already been violated and turned them into guinea pigs, and for what? Camo skin that doesn’t work right, adaptation that rips my skin off? I used to be called in for hostage rescue all the time, and I _ loved _ it because I’m _ good _ at saving people, I shouldn’t see people taking it for _ me _.” 

“You can’t dwell on that, Lieutenant.” She’s only a couple years older than me and already looks so damn old when she looks at me that way. “Focus on the people _ you _ pulled out of the fire. Iconia. That Borg clusterfuck. Ambassador Kannan at DS9.” 

“Technically, you took down the shooter, ma’am.” 

“And you figured out what was going on and jumped on Kannan literally as that terrorist drew his gun. Now listen to me and listen close, soldier. _ Your mind is not expendable _. You know how many MACO officers at or above your rank there are in the whole Federation, out of over a trillion people?” 

“About a thousand, ma’am.” 

“Exactly. That’s because we need good minds more than good bodies. You get a suit of power armor because even with the better part of a trillion people, finding people who can do small-unit tactics at your level _ and _ handle basic to advanced hacking, engineering, heavy weapons, all of that crap, is _ hard _ , and training you costs Paris a _ lot _ of time and credits. So let me lay this out in simple terms so that you get it through your stubborn-ass thick head, Lieutenant—if you _ ever _ go against doctors’ orders like that again, I will _ personally _ take your pips, throw you in the brig, and have you court-martialed for dereliction of duty and disobeying orders. Am I clear?” 

I may be a special warfare operator who’s fought, killed, and gotten the shit kicked out of me by the baddest asses in the galaxy, but I still gulp reflexively. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She pins me with the Captain glare for a moment longer, then nods. “Good. Now, your men are all resting off broken bones and bruised egos, I’ll let you debrief them before I let Doctor Shree give you her own lecture.” 

Oh, jeez, that’s not gonna be pleasant. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” 

The Captain shuts the privacy field down and a waiting nurse steps in to check the monitors. “Get well soon, Lieutenant.” And she’s off, probably to explain to Command how Shaw got away. 

I haul myself out of the biobed with the arm that isn’t still repairing itself, and hiss in pain as my ribs (still tender despite my own natural healing and the best medical tech the Federation has to offer) complain; a nurse moves to help me but I wave him off. My squad’s laid up on the other side of Sickbay, but it’s only a few meters, not like I’m running a marathon. 

My ribs still complain every step of the way. I miss painkillers. 

My arm’s still in a sling and I’m covered in chitin and my own congealed blood, Lamont’s got an icepack on his head and can’t leave the room until he’s passed a brain scan, both of Kallio’s arms are in casts and elevated on the biobed until Wirrpanda’s sure the bones are healed properly, K’tar’s got a leg propped up in another cast, and Luiz has an arm in a sling for a torn muscle and an order not to move too much because of recently-repaired ribs. They still manage to corner me as I pull up a chair by Kallio’s bed. 

“You alright, Lieutenant?” Lamont asks. 

“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m good. You OK, Kallio?” 

“Well, I’d rather be in a nice hot sauna, but I suppose this is a little relaxing. Could do with a free hand to scratch my behind, though.” He grins, and I manage a chuckle. “How about you, sir?” 

“I’m good. Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t beam down earlier.” 

Kallio tries to shrug, but the casts won’t quite let him. “Not your fault, sir. And the doctor was right, with all due respect.” 

I grimace. “Yeah. I froze, just for a couple seconds but that was enough.” 

“Well, you sound like you’re hitting it head-on,” K’tar grunts. “Got a plan?” 

“Yup.” I bare my teeth. “That bitch hurt me _ again _ because I was _ scared _ . I feel fucking _ dirty _. So I’m going to take a long, hot hydro-shower, give my girlfriend a kiss and a hug, and then I’m going to beat the living shit out of a hologram of Ellen Shaw until I can face her in a fight without a flinch.” 

“Seems a little drastic,” Lamont notes. 

“I never met a personal problem I couldn’t solve by brute-forcing it,” I reply. “Got an objection?” 

He nods. “Yes, sir. I’m brushing up on psych, hoping to get a DI posting when I move on and all, and one of the first things they teach you in practical psych is that brute-forcing trauma recovery doesn’t work very well and can exacerbate the trauma, making recovery harder. Exposure therapy’s a thing, but you really do need a professional.” 

“Yeah, but I ain’t most people. Shaw made me _ weak _ . If I go at her in a place where I _ know _ I’m in charge, where I can have a cushion, go at her with her trying to scare me…” I shrug. “Professional or not, exposure therapy’s a thing and frankly I like the idea. At the very least, wiping the smirk off of that bitch’s face will make me feel a Hell of a lot better.” 

“Just as long as at least one of us is there with you, sir,” Luiz suggests. K’tar and Lamont nod grudgingly; Kallio makes up-and-down motions with his eyes. “You know, just in case, for practicality’s sake.” 

“Fine. And, hey, Luiz—thanks for coming in when you did down there.” 

“Don’t mention it, sir. Just doing my job.” 

***

_ Ellen Shaw. Section 31 black site, Trialas IV _. 

“It did _ not _ beat me,” I seethe, the tech working on my open knee keeping his head low. “I kicked its ass and got caught by overwhelming numbers.” Something sparks in my knee, and I snarl with pain, the tech flinching back. “Watch it, asshole!” 

“_ Whether you defeated Subject 87 in combat or not, the fact remains that the assassination was unsuccessful _ ,” the Deputy Director snaps. “ _ You failed us, Operator Shaw. You failed to terminate your target, you failed to terminate or subdue Subject 87, and you failed to terminate its subordinates _ after _ unequivocally exposing your presence and our involvement in the mission. _” 

“THAT WASN’T MY FAULT!” I shout, lunging forwards; my damaged knee buckles but I grab a table to keep my feet as the tech scrambles away from me. “I had those sons of bitches dead to rights, I could’ve taken them down if that Bajoran bitch and her halfassed goon squad hadn’t come barging in!” 

“_ Never raise your voice at me again, Operator Shaw _ ,” the Deputy Director replies coldly. “ _ Your failure on this mission represents a significant financial loss for this organization on top of the failure of operational goals—not to mention the damage to your body, which need I remind you is an _ extremely _ expensive prototype with an estimated value exceeding one billion credits at present time. _” 

“I got unlucky,” I snarl, staggering back to the chair. “I’m _ better _ than that aug-swine. I was the youngest Commander in MACO history! I could shoot straighter than a Vulcan sniper twice my age _ before _ I got the implants! I’ve got so many medals I don’t think I can fit them all on me, that dumb bitch Subject 87 has _ nothing _ on me! I’m _ Ellen fucking Shaw _!” 

“_ My duty is not to massage your ego, Operator Shaw. Director Drake may be tolerant of your foibles, but thanks to Captain Kanril, he is no longer in immediate control of this organization. I am. You will allow the technician to finish repairs and prepare to deploy to Epsilon Tauri for your next assignment. _” 

“Yes, _ sir _,” I force out, finger servos humming as I grip into the chair’s arms. 

“_ And, Operator Shaw? You will not let your juvenile concern with Subject 87 cloud your judgement again. We will retrieve it at a later date, and if you show improvement you _ may _ be allowed to participate in that retrieval. Until then, do your job and do it right. _” The feed cuts out. 

My still-bare, still-charred chest nanomesh crackles as I snarl, upper body flexing involuntarily. “Finish my fucking knee,” I hiss. “And make it good.” 

“Uh, ma’am…” the tech says cautiously. “I… miiight not be able to repair you all the way.” 

“_ What _?” I want to throttle the little shit on the spot, and he shies away, but I pull back. Barely. 

“Ma’am, there’s going to be a little sticking if you don’t roll it around a bit, and it’s going to be a bit weaker to direct knee hits until we can get the funding to replace your whole leg. I’ve had to splice some of the wires together, you got hit pretty badly by that kn—ackgh! Urghlk!” 

“_ Fix my goddamn knee, you useless fucking moron _,” I spit into the little shit’s face as I haul him close by the neck. “Or I break your scrawny-ass neck.” 

It wouldn’t be as satisfying as making Subject 87 my bitch, but it might feel satisfying in a pinch. 

Subject 87 had _ better _ be goddamn scared right now. Because I’m coming for it, and I’m going to thrash its ass again. It thinks it’s so great, with a few shiny medals and some bleeding-heart aug-lovers who let it pretend to be a person. But I’m better, and I’m going to prove it. 

And I’m going to _ fucking _ enjoy it. 

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
